


Take Hold of Your Broken Heart (You Don't Owe Them Any Part of You)

by HarperRose (Harper_Rose)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Natasha is that estranged aunt you never talk about but still love cos she's Natasha c'mon!, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Tony, Peter Parker is an angel, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Steve is kinda an ass, Tony & Pepper & Peter & Bucky are all a big family now I guess, Tony Feels, Tony has no warm fuzzy feelings for Steve, Tony-centric, Vision and Bruce are the strange relatives who visit sometimes, and Strange is just that family friend that you don't miss till you do, but he's just doing what he thinks is right, but so is Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harper_Rose/pseuds/HarperRose
Summary: It takes a teenager, a series of phone calls, and a selfless act followed by a selfish one to heal Tony’s broken heart. And he might just find family along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reincarnation by Tea
> 
> "I've spent centuries  
> in this agony  
> My body changes  
> but time stays still
> 
> All this time I've passed  
> waiting to be found  
> like a bird inside a cage,  
> my feet chained to this ground
> 
> I can't keep my monsters at bay  
> but I can't run away
> 
> In the eye of each soul  
> all I see is fear  
> and my own still whispers  
> "I'm not from here"
> 
> By now I thought  
> I'd have more power  
> But at the end of each day  
> "it" still devours
> 
> Even though there's love in my heart  
> I still feel like falling apart
> 
> Each fight feels like  
> dark mirrors inside a maze  
> and all I see in this reflection  
> is my own empty gaze
> 
> My mind is light years  
> away from this place  
> Still the only thing that saves me  
> is your warm embrace
> 
> And when it feels like I have no choice  
> I recognize your voice
> 
> I'm so tired of this fight  
> But your love still keeps me warm  
> Together, we'll win this battle  
> Together, we'll breathe through the storm"

The thing is, Tony has been worse -- he has been better, but _better than worse_ is a marked improvement that he feels he can be proud of. He still has so many scars that are slow to heal, but he's been doing better. His heart doesn’t feel so raw and exposed as it once had not so long ago. Tony doesn’t handle vulnerability well, but he can recognize progress when he sees it.

The kid is helping, no matter what Tony tells himself. Tony spends a lot more time with him since the whole _incident_ and well… it has seemed to be doing them both some good. Tony has FRIDAY get ahold of whatever footage she can of the plane crash and let’s just say that did _not_ help Tony’s anxiety addled mind one bit.

Tony still wakes up some (read: most) nights in a cold sweat, heart beating out of his chest. Unable to shake the images of Cap- _Steve_ standing before him, shield in hand, with his cold, blue eyes. There is no warmth in Steve in Tony’s dreams; no shadow of friendship, of love _._ He can’t recall Steve’s eyes any other way. Reality has blurred with dreamscape and what is true no longer matters. Not as much as the heartache does. _That_ Tony knows is real.

Everything in Tony’s life anymore is so distorted. It isn’t any wonder he has trust issues. Paranoia, if one asks Pepper.

He tries drinking, after Steve and the other’s leave -- leave him to _die, to freeze, alone, alonealonealone._ It’s an old habit, and in that sense, it is comforting, if only for a time. He is quick to clean up his act and refuse to let the bad habit perpetuate. He will be better. If not for himself then for Peter and Pepper and because Steve won’t expect it.

Peter is a godsend. Tony, god forbid, feels responsibility to an alarming degree. It isn’t the responsibility he has felt in the past after creating the suit, that feeling that he _has_ to do something because he _can._ No, this is an obligation. No, that’s not quite right. Tony doesn’t feel an obligation, he feels _obliged_. He is more than happy to help Peter; to build him a better suit, to install an AI -- Karen, apparently is her name now, due to Peter’s horrifying lack of creativity. The thing is, Tony doesn’t mind any of it. He has always enjoyed making and giving to the people he considers friends. Maybe because they are so few and far between. He wants them to stay, not to leave him alone again. Is it bribery? Maybe, but he doesn’t like to look at it that way. Steve got a new shield, Natasha had constant upgrades to her widow’s bite and her suit, Clint got new arrows and new shin pads, Rhodey new legs. Steve had once said it is possibly Tony’s most admirable trait, his twisted sense of generosity.

Tony still has Pepper and Happy and Rhodey, the three of them are the closest thing to family Tony has ever had. They have stayed. Everyone new in Tony's life since Pepper left him; didn’t need him. Everyone except for Peter.

It is after Aunt May, due to Peter’s own carelessness, finds out the truth about the “Stark internship” that Tony starts being more active in Peter’s life. They exchange personal cell numbers -- which Happy is particularly grateful for. Tony helps him with homework occasionally, not that the kid needs it very often. They tinker in Tony’s labs and garage. On one memorable occasion, Tony picks him up from school in the convertible. Tony even comes by for dinner occasionally at Aunt May’s insistence.

He doesn’t think about Steve so much anymore. 

Tony picks Peter up from school on a Friday in August. It’s the start of a new year and yeah, Tony has been out of school for quite some time, but he feels good too. Like he too somehow has a new start. Tony takes the suit, letting it fly home on autopilot. They go for a walk.

Tony strolls with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, Peter with his stuffed in his jacket. It’s cold but not too much so. The breeze that slips through the buildings feels good. They walk, buy some churros, Tony listens to Peter as he tells him about this and that with the excitement only a fifteen-year-old can manage.

“MJ thinks it’s stupid, but she says everything’s stupid so she’s not exactly an objective opinion on the subject. Anyway, it’s totally amazing. It’s got over five thousand pieces and I don’t really know how Ned even gets these things, it’s like a billion dollars. Why the hell are legos so expensive?”

“Language.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Your one to talk.”

Tony smiles. “What have I told you? Don’t do things I would do. I’m a terrible influence on you. Why your aunt lets you anywhere near me is a mystery for the ages.”

“She likes you,” Peter says. “Actually, I think she likes knowing I have Iron Man to watch my back. She finds it comforting.” He takes a bite of his churro.

“That’s fair.”

They walk, rounding a corner as they approach the Parker’s apartment complex. They slip through a side road with less foot traffic, a small cafe situated beside a VFW, and Tony nearly stops dead in his tracks. It’s Steve’s familiar face that smiles back at him through the VFW window. An old poster of the Boy Scout in uniform. He's saluting, some cheesy recruitment line in bold white text. It's vintage and cheesy and should inspire hope and inspiration.

Tony feels his stomach roll and he feels physically ill. It’s not fair. _It is not fair._ Damn Steve for this, this sickening ache that consumes him just from some stupid propaganda poster. He hates him for it.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Tony blinks and he sees Peter’s face looking back at him with concern. Tony forces a smile, for the kid’s sake. Peter was there for enough of it, smart enough to infer the rest. He inhales sharply, his throat burns like it is trying to close up and suffocate him. “I’m fine. Come on.”

He keeps walking and swallows down the nausea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was a longtime coming. A lot of it is me getting my own feelings out that I’ve harboured since CA: Civil War. It was also influenced by a lot of other post-civil war fics, and then it was finalized after I saw Spider-Man: Homecoming, so spoiler alerts ahead. The thing is, a lot of post-civil war fics I’ve seen have ended with Steve/Tony, and I don’t want that. It feels v forced and fucked up to me. If I were Tony I would be 100% done with Rogers. That’s my happy ending for Tony. 
> 
> The final spark of inspiration for this story comes from a writing prompt account on tumblr called the-modern-typewriter and their prompt: “And who decides what’s right? You?” “Yes. I trust my conscience.” “That doesn’t make you a hero, that makes you a dictator. Everyone trusts their conscience, that doesn’t magically make you right or more objective than anyone else.”
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this. I don't write a lot of canon compliant Avengers fics anymore, but this just kind of came out.
> 
> Let me know what you think so far. This will probably be ten chapters or so of various length. Chapter two is much longer, promise. Also, if you see any errors please point them out to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony comes by for dinner. May, the wonderful Italian woman that she is, made parmigiana. And really, it's better than anything Tony has had in Italy. Better than anything he has had since his mother died. The woman is a witch, he would swear by it. It's a good night and Tony finds himself laughing at something Peter says over the dinner table, mouth full of eggplant, more than once. It's as if he's a different person, someone with fewer worries and who eats home cooked meals in Manhattan apartments. May is a delight, he thinks Pepper would like her. Maybe he should bring her next time.

It's almost two years since the Accords, almost two years since Siberia, since Steve looked at him with those cold, cold eyes.

He doesn't think about it anymore, not really. Nights previously spent filled with night terrors of Siberia and Steve or space and invasions are replaced with ones of Peter. Peter being hurt, Peter dying, Peter needing help and Tony _not being there._ It's strange having this fear that had consumed him so readily turn to concern for another.

Tony isn't sure when this protective streak began, but sitting here in May’s kitchen, helping clean up after dinner, listening to Peter recite his grade card, he can't bring himself to regret it. It's good.

“What’s this business about a B in English?” Tony interrupts. “Child prodigies don’t get B’s, Pete.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “So I may have missed a few quizzes, I was busy though," he says conspiratorily. "I didn’t have time to read _Macbeth_. Fighting crime, duh.” He shrugs, smirking like the little shit that Tony knows he is. “If it helps, I got detention.”

“Peter!” May chastises, setting her fork down. Her large hoop earrings swish as she turns on her ward. “You cannot keep getting detention.”

Tony gives him a look that more or less says, ‘told you so.’ He smiles. “Fix the B, kid. Or the suit’s mine indefinitely.”

“But, Mr. Stark-”

Tony’s phone buzzes and he holds up his finger. Peter frowns but falls silent. The caller ID reads Pepper and Tony smiles. “Hey, Pep, what can I do ya for? And before you say anything, no, I didn’t get those contracts signed. But, get this, there-”

“Tony?”

He feels like someone has poured ice water right down his spine. Warm yellow light and Elton John's vocals flow through the apartment, candles wane on the kitchen table and Peter smiles at something May says. _That_ voice doesn't belong here. Tony moves to Peter’s room, moving out of earshot of the content family.

“Rogers, what the _fuck?”_ Tony hisses. He feels a cold rage take root in the pit of his stomach. That is something he has learned about anger, about _real_ anger. Rage isn't a warm thing, it isn't hot or red or a poetic raging fire. No, fire is good. Fire is determination and warmth. Anger is a cold, icy thing with teeth and it eats away at everything.

“How did you get Pepper’s phone?” he asks. “Are you in my home?” He feels his hands shake with anger and not without a touch of fear. He feels sick and a part of him hopes this is some twisted joke. “Rogers I swear to _fuck,_ if you-”

“Pepper’s fine, Tony. She let me use her cell. You weren’t responding to the one I left you, what else was I supposed to do?” He asks, his voice steadily rising and who the fuck is he to be angry with Tony?

“You have no right to break into my home,” he says scathingly. “I should call the police- or SHIELD. _Christ._ What the _fuck?”_

“We need to talk, Tony. So are you coming or not?”

“I’ll be there in ten.” Nevermind that the tower is a good thirty minutes away by car. “Don’t move, and don’t so much as _breathe_ in Pepper’s direction you  _sonofabitch.”_ Tony hangs up and quickly grabs his coat.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I have to go,” he says shortly. Maybe it's something on his face, some microexpression Peter is too smart to disregard, but the kid’s face lights up with concern like he fucking  _knows._

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Tony frowns. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, kid. Something came up is all.” He forces himself to speak steadily despite the rage and fear that snakes up his throat like frostbite, choking him. 

He hears May telling him to be careful as he slips out the door.

 

* * *

 

The elevator ride up to the penthouse seems slower than usual and Tony finds himself wishing he had the suit on. He needs a weapon; he needs armor.

He needs an advantage.

“FRIDAY, where’s Pepper?” Tony asks, his voice startling him in the silence.

“Ms. Potts is currently in her personal quarters, Boss. She is unharmed, with a steady heart rate averaging at eighty beats per minute.”

How the fuck is she so calm? Tony wonders.

“You, however, seem to have a BPM of ninety-eight and rising. Do you require assistance, Boss? Your diazepam perhaps?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

When the elevator comes to a rest, pinging as it opens, Tony steals himself. He lets the cold rage inside of himself rise. He can use that. He marches silently through the penthouse, fingers twitching. He rounds a corner and there is Rogers, dressed in his torn and worn battle suit, shield thrown over his shoulder. There is a tear in the shoulder of his suit that has been there since Siberia. Tony drags his eyes away from it with some effort. 

Rogers's eyes widen as they land on him. “Tony,” he says breathlessly.

He takes in the room, Steve appears to be alone but Tony isn't about to take any chances. “Rogers.”

The man frowns, hands hanging restlessly at his sides. He looks terrible, impossibly tired and rough around the edges, a beard is coming in that Tony has only seen on occasion. Tony feels a spark of satisfaction.

It feels wrong having him here, so alive and warm and human. He isn't like that in Tony’s dreams.

“You have exactly one minute to tell me why you’re here before SHIELD storms this place.”

Steve swallows, shifting his weight on his feet and Tony feels a pang of something very similar to sentiment. He looks so much like the man Tony once loved, the kind man who sometimes seemed too small for his skin or forgot his own strength on occasion and saved kittens from trees and reminded Tony to eat and read Lovecraft out loud at three in the morning because his voice kept Tony’s nightmares at bay.

It. isn't. fair.

“Bucky’s missing,” he says, looking taxed. “If anyone can find him, it’s you.”

“Missing? How do you lose a frozen man?” Tony asks.

Steve shrugs, looking utterly helpless; gutted.

Tony can’t help but think, _good._  

“Barnes isn’t my problem, okay? He’s missing, so what? How is that on me?” Tony asks, his voice rising. “How is my mother’s murderer in anyway _my_ responsibility!? Please, explain that to me, _please?”_ Tony hates himself when his voice hics.

“Tony-”

“No! Don’t, just… don’t. Please.” He feels like he is begging and he hates it. “I don’t know why you thought this was okay. It’s been two years, Steve. You left me there to die. For two years I’ve been picking up the mess that you left behind!” Left wondering what he did so wrong for him to just turn and _leave_.

Tony sees a figure he first assumes to be Pepper lingering in the doorway. He feels anger swell hot and pink in his cheeks. “Peter?”

The teen shifts on his feet. “I’m sorry, I followed you. I thought- I mean, you looked angry and... scared,” he says hurriedly. “I thought I could help. I mean, I assumed it was an Avengers thing or something. I wanted to help.” He stands there, mask in hand, eyes wide. They flash between Tony and Steve and he looks unsure of what to do with himself, realizing the mistake he had made. A miscalculation. His wide eyes waver over Steve, frightened.

“Kid, you shouldn’t be here,” Tony says, trying to keep his voice level.

A frown etches itself across Peter's brow.

 _"Go,_ Pete!” Tony shouts. Later he will feel guilty about that.

“Mr. Stark-”

“Get out!”

Peter trips over his own feet, casting a look of raw _concern_ towards Tony, but he goes all the same. 

With the kid out of the room, Tony turns back on Steve with fire in his eyes. “Not everything falls to me. I’m tired of being responsible for you.”

“Tony, this is Bucky. You have to understand-”

“I understand plenty, Rogers,” Tony sneers. His hands are balled into tight fists. “Trust me.”

Steve frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”

Tony scoffs. “Are you joking?” He laughs, but it holds no humor. “I loved you, Steve. You told me you loved me. But the moment Barnes walked back into your life, you walked right out of mine like it was nothing. Like three years meant absolutely nothing to you.” Tony looks down at the carpet, feeling hollowed and hung out to dry. “You were my friend.”

It wasn’t fair, the way Steve can just do thisafter two years of being  _better than worse._  No consideration to Tony’s progress. It isn't  _fair._ He want's to scream ahd hit and pound his fists against Steve's chest, even knowing it won't do any good.

“Go. Before I call SHIELD for real. Just get out.” He runs his hands through his hair, pacing. He looks at Steve and he feels no love there. He just feels tired.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter has questions after that, how can he not? Peter is smart and he is nosey and he shouldn’t be trying to comfort Tony but that’s what he does because he has the biggest heart Tony’s ever seen. Vaguely, Tony is aware how backward that is, but he never claimed to be very good at the whole parenting thing and he is  _not_ a parent anyway, _damnit._

“I’m sorry,” the kid blurts one evening. The two of them are in Tony’s workshop, experimenting and toying with some mostly theoretical upgrades to both of their suits. They are working on waning Peter off the training wheels, for real this time, and they are working on simplifying some of the suits more extravagant modes that Tony had mostly put in place out of paranoia anyway.

Tony looks up from his sketching on his pad. “For what? What did you do?” he asks with growing suspicion. There are a number of important things in this garage the kid could have broke.

“Nothing! I just…” Peter shifts on his stool. “I just meant, about the whole Captain America thing the other night.”

Tony can feel himself tense. “That has nothing to do with you,” he says shortly, hoping to end that right where it is.

“I know. I just know it probably sucks.” He shrugs. “What he did sucks and you guys were friends before, so," he says stuntedly as Tony's frown deepens.

Tony sets his tools down. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me, kid. What Rogers did was shitty, and it does suck. And no, I don’t need to talk about it further than that.”

They leave it at that.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony doesn't hear from Steve for a few months after that. It's good, Tony feels good. He has been more involved in the company, more hands-on than he’s been in some time. Sometimes he wonders if Steve found Barnes. Where could Barnes have even gone? How did they lose an indefinitely unconscious full sized man anyhow? Had Barnes been unfrozen and bolted? Why though?

Sardonically, Tony thinks maybe he too was sick of Captain Perfect making decisions for him.

In any case, he ups security. It won't do any good to have a super soldier break in and strangle him in his sleep.

He's just leaving a board meeting, which he occasionally attends these days, when he hears it ring. After Steve breaking in he has decided to move The Phone to a more accessible location. One where he can hear it ring if it so chooses.

It's in a drawer in the kitchen on his floor. He's pouring himself a drink, first one all week (Pepper is very proud, thank you), when he hears it.

He jerks the drawer open a little rougher than necessary, but Tony’s whole body has gone too numb to pay that much mind. He is very happy he took his pills that morning, he can feel the anxiety swelling in the pit of his stomach. Hot and fuzzy in all the wrong ways.

The thing just sits there innocently, unassumingly, with its screen glowing with _incoming call._

Picking up the phone, he asks, “what do you want?”

“Tony?” Steve’s voice sounds wrong. Or maybe that is just what he sounds like now. How should Tony know? “I- I’m sorry for calling. I was, I don’t know. I didn’t think you would answer, honestly.”

“So why call?”

“I had a dream.”

Tony shoots a glance at the clock, it's nearly noon. “It’s what, almost seven in the morning your time?”

“Yeah.”

“So you had a dream,” Tony says. “So what?” He takes a long swig of his drink, likes the way it burns it’s way down his throat.

He can hear Steve swallow. “You died. In my dream. I guess I just needed reassurance.”

“I die in my dreams all the time,” he says. “Seems to be a theme with me.”

“Do I kill you in your dreams?” He asks stuntedly, sounding not at all like he wants the honest answer, and Tony feels every muscle in his body tense.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice hoarse and dry like gravel in a garbage disposal.

“I killed you in mine. With my shield. It felt too real. I woke up more tired than when I went to sleep. I don’t think I got any rest at all.” He laughs, but it lacks any humor.

“Welcome to the club.”

Steve snorts dryly. “Sorry for calling. I just needed to know you were alive. I… I’ll let you go.”

He hangs up before Tony can get another word out.

Tony frowns at the phone, unsure where this leaves them. So Steve cares whether Tony is alive or not. Or, more correctly, he cares whether he is directly responsible for his death. That doesn't necessarily mean anything. He hadn't seemed to care two years ago, as far as Tony is concerned, that is all that really matters.

Tony scoffs, "fuck you," and throws the mobile back in its drawer. He refills his glass.  _I'll let you go,_ plays like a broken record in his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one! The chapters are going to be of varying lengths, although most will be longer than this, I swear.  
> First three chapters in one day, the rest will be slower as I do have most of this written, but not finished. I don't want post all of it at once and then have a huge gap so I'll try doing the rest more regularly.


	4. Chapter 4

They are all over the news one day, Iron Man and Spider-Man. There were some alien arms dealers that got the bright idea to hold up a bank in broad daylight and Tony is  _not_ about to let Peter take that one on his own a second time. He likes to think he learns from his mistakes.

Tony gets blasted when one of their guys, decked out in some cheesy Rhino looking suit, gets a lucky shot. It leaves him a little dizzy and his suit a little singed but he bounces back. It takes no time at all for Tony and Peter both to be broadcasted all over every major news outlet in the city. Everyone is intrigued by the two heroes' team-up. Tony will begrudgingly admit that it is becoming a rather regular occurrence. The news is having a field day with it, but Tony is too preoccupied with who is aiding these lowlifes enhance their tech. Doom, probably.

Tony gets more than enough reporters hounding him for Spider-Man’s identity. He tells each and every one to fuck off and take a hike, and takes pride in it each time.  

Tony is surprised when May, calling Peter to check in on his well being, requests he pass the phone to Tony. Tony explains fervently that he is unharmed. She insists he and Pep come by for tomorrow’s dinner.

The Phone rings again that night, ominously vibrating around the confines of its oak prison. Tony hates himself for answering and hates Steve even more for calling.

He takes it out on the balcony, hoping the fresh air will clear his head enough to carry a coherent conversation with the man on the other end. He won't ask why Steve is calling him at three a.m. Wakanda's time.

“What do you need, Rogers?” The silence grates on Tony’s nerves. He is not a patient person. “Hellooo?"

“Sorry,” comes the breathy reply. “I was, I don’t know.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Not this time, no.”

“You know, I meant what I said about not everything can keep falling to me. I’m not responsible for your nightmares, you are. The only reason you’re having them is because of you. Imagine being on the other side of them, Rogers. ‘Cus it’s a lot more scary from my end!” Tony clenches his jaw, teeth grinding.

There is a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“No. I know you aren’t. You would've killed me if you thought it would save Barnes, I know that.” Tony swallows, acceptance tastes bitter and kind of like toothpaste. “That’s why you have those nightmares and I don’t. I’m a better person than you. I would never have killed Barnes. And maybe you wouldn’t be able to deal the final blow but you were more than able to leave me there to die. Because maybe it takes away some of the personal guilt, I don't know. But it makes you no less responsible.” Tony is on a roll, and now that he is talking he doesn't think he can stop. “So don’t apologize,” he goes on. “I know you aren’t sorry. And that’s okay. No one can make you feel a way you don’t.” He runs a hand down his face, taking a seat along the edge of the balcony, his feet dangling through the bars of the fence. “I’ve accepted what’s happened. I’ve been living with it for over two years now.”

There is a pause. “I still shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“No.” Tony sniffs. “Why did you call?”

“I saw the news, I couldn’t sleep. Are you okay?”

“You mean that fight downtown? Yeah, we’re fine.”

“That spider kid?”

“Yeah.”

“He has good form. Lotta potential from what I’ve seen.”

Tony chuckles. “Yeah, he’s alright. Keeps me on my toes. Good kid. Couldn’t have asked for better really, but don’t tell him I said that. Although he has exactly one week left to get his grades up before his ass is grass.”

Steve laughs at that and Tony feels… some sort of some way about it. It doesn't hurt so much, but some part of him will always love that laugh. “If he’s anything like you, I wouldn’t be too worried about it.”

“He’s not my kid,” Tony says reflexively.

“No, I wasn't presuming, I just meant because of the…”

“The what?”

“I don’t know. You’re good with him, is all.”

“We dated for three years, Rogers. Think you woulda’ known if I had a teenage son. Although, I guess you never really can know someone, huh?”

Steve doesn't reply.

“Right. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Nothing. Perfect.

“You find Barnes?” he asks.

“Yeah. He was still on the continent.”

“What happened anyway?”

Steve's laugh is self-deprecating. “The doctors unfroze him, just for a medical check-up, I guess. Make sure he was okay.” He sighs. “The Winter Soldier came through maybe, I don’t know. He forgot where he was, got turned around. Lashed out, knocked a nurse out and bolted.”

“Don’t blame him.” Tony bites his lip. “Well, helps me sleep knowing he’s not hanging out on my balcony like a bat, waiting for me to fall asleep.”

“Tony.”

“Night, Rogers.” He hangs up.

There's a ghost of a smile on his lips as he shuts the balcony door.


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce comes by, and it's nice, it's really good actually. Tony has missed Bruce. It just so happens that Vision is there too at the time, the android has taken to spending a notable amount of time at the tower since Wanda’s disappearance. It's a shared understanding between the two of them. They both lost loved ones that day.

Tony tries not to feel warm and fuzzy over the not-JARVIS android actively seeking out his company.

They are all in the lab, having a decent run of it. Tony has gotten a laugh out of Vision which is an achievement in and of itself, he thinks. For an android, he is rather expressive, Tony finds. He enjoys getting a rise out of him.

“If we were to make an anti-gravity gun,” Tony says good-naturedly. “Let’s suspend reality for a second and say it is a possibility-”

“Anything’s possible, Tony,” Bruce teases. He is fiddling with a pen, sitting on Tony’s desk with his feet swaying.

“Let’s say we create one,” Tony continues with a roll of his eyes, “what _exactly_ is the purpose of it?”

Bruce grins.

“It would succeed in thoroughly catching our enemies off their guard,” Vision says.

Tony barks a laugh, wagging a finger at Vision. He has that sharp JARVIS wit that Tony misses so much. FRIDAY just doesn't have that same  _je ne sais quoi_ as his first "born."

“That is a valid point, Tony!” Bruce says, pointing animatedly at the android.

“Mr. Parker is here for you, Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts. “I informed him you were in your workshop and should not hesitate to interrupt.”

“Is it three already?” Tony whistles, glancing at the clock on his desktop. “Would you look at that, three p.m. and still no gravity gun, boys and droids.”

Bruce chuckles, fiddling with his pen.

“It is a quite useless device,” Vision concedes. “But would it not succeed in passing the time?”

“You want me to ‘pass the time’ by building you guys a _toy?_ You do realize I have a company to run, don’t you?” Tony says. “Also, a toy with the potential for evil. I always knew you were secretly a mad scientist, Brucie. You’re just a few steps away from a walking stereotype.” He runs a quick hand through Bruce's hair till it stands on end, not unlike a certain few mad scientists from all the old films.

Bruce swats at Tony's hand and pats down his hair. "Stop, you'll have me looking like Rotwang,“ he says.

"Ooh, I was going more for Doctor Frankenstein," Tony says. "Rotwang has too many racial stereotypes. I try avoiding having to unpack German films. It gets uncomfortably sketchy."

"I thought Pepper ran your company anyway,” Bruce says. 

“It still has my name on it!”

The door pings and Tony spins in his chair, grinning broadly at the teenager. “Pete!” Tony says. “These assholes want me to build them a one-hundred percent idiotic anti-gravity gun. Can you believe them?” he asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“What use does an anti-gravity gun even have?” Peter asks. Although his curiosity looks peaked as if he expects any of them to have an actual answer. “Besides evil," he says with a shrug.

Tony gestures at the kid as if to say, ‘see?!’ “Guy’s this is Peter, my new PA.”

“What?”

“Kidding. Although-”

“Does that involve doing your dry cleaning?” Peter asks.

“It doesn’t _not_ involve my dry cleaning.”

“I can’t even drive.”

“Fair enough. Peter, this is Bruce and Vision, aka the Hulk and my AI taken humanoid form because he was sick of me.”

The kid seems unsure which part of that sentence to latch onto. “I… ah…” He blinks. “What?”

“Pete?” Tony waves a hand in front of his face.

“Let me get this straight. You’re Doctor Banner,” he points at Bruce. “Like  _the_ Doctor Banner. I mean, the Hulk is pretty badass but your work is amazing. I’ve read your dissertation, we talked about you in AP physics. And you’re an  _android?_ Did Tony build you?” he asks.

“Tony created the basis for my consciousness."

He looks at Tony like he has handed him the world. “You have the coolest friends.”

 

* * *

 

After Vision leaves, and Peter crashed on Tony’s sofa after finishing his homework and downing three sodas, Tony pulls Banner aside. The man is busying himself trying to pick up the mess of a kitchen, bless him, while simultaneously brewing himself tea that smells like sour fruit, when Tony takes him by the arm. “Come to the lab with me?” he asks.

Bruce half smiles. “Tony it’s past midnight. I think you should get _some_ sleep tonight.” Because no matter how _better than worse_ Tony is doing, sleep is always a hurdle he struggles with. 

“I’m working on something, Bruce,” he says. Any good humor the day had held previously has left and Bruce senses the change. He glances over at Peter to make sure the kid is still asleep. “It’s a little over my head.”

“You became an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics in one evening."

“This isn’t astrophysics."

Bruce watches him openly, searching his face for _something --_ Tony doesn't know. Whatever it is he must have found it. “Okay. Lead the way.”

The lab is lit and ready for operation when they entered.

“FRIDAY, pull up project _Ghost.”_

The AI silently complies. The room lights dim and the space is filled with luminous blue and red hues. The file is full of equations and results and botched half-information, half-speculation. James Barnes's profile lights up, followed by a jumble of data. A dated photo from the Howling Commandos days, a few older, and a few from security cames showing the Winter Soldier are splayed across the space.

“What is this?” Bruce asks.

“The Winter Soldier,” Tony says with a severe lack of signature Stark flair. He waves his hand at the holographs for good measure.

“Tony, what _is_ this?” he asks more forcefully. He looks more concerned for Tony’s mental state than anything and Tony can't exactly fault him on that. Maybe Tony has finally lost it, how would he know? Would he know? He thinks it doesn't matter.

He takes a breath, preparing himself. “Rogers came by.”

“What? When?”

Tony sees a flash of green in those eyes. “Few months ago. He wanted my help,” he says. “Barnes had gone MIA and he thought I was his best bet at finding him.” Tony shrugs. “They found him I guess. He attacked a Wakandan doctor in a fit, lapse in memory -- in self.”

“So what is _this?”_ Bruce asks.

“I’ve been thinking of how to extract the Winter Soldier, permanently. I’ve been reading up on psychology and mind control, MK Ultra, Project Monarch, indoctrination and association disorders, Stockholm Syndrome, the works. You name it. Memories are fragile things,” he says, “they can be altered and created and implanted. There has to be _something_ that can be done,” Tony says.

"Done for who? Barnes or you?" Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “Tony.” Bruce sounds sad and Tony winces. “Why are you doing this?”

Tony shakes his head. “I’m still beyond pissed at Rogers, trust me. But…” He sighs. “The Winter Soldier killed my mother,” he says, “Barnes didn’t. It was his hands and ultimately it was _him,_ but I _am_ able to differentiate between the two. I know the difference." 

“Dissociative identity disorder?” Bruce asks.

Tony shrugs. “Some form of it, effectively. It's different though, isn't it? It didn't occur because of some chemical imbalance or childhood trauma. It's because of Hydra, they did this to him. You weren’t there Bruce, you should have seen him. I’m not sure James Barnes is even in there anymore, not really. Not the same one from 1940. But someone other than the Winter Soldier _is_ in there. Someone a lot less violent and who possibly doesn’t even remember what he’s done as the Winter Soldier.” There is a whole new James Barnes hidden inside of there, Tony knows it.

“And you want to take it upon yourself to fix him?” Bruce asks.

Tony is in no way responsible for Barnes. _Not everything can fall to me._ This isn't his responsibility, he knows this.

Bruce runs a hand across his face, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “Tony, you’re too willing to take everyone’s burdens on yourself. You don’t have to do this.”

Tony frowns. Is he taking everyone’s burdens? He doesn't do that. Does he? Shit. He swallows. “But I can,” he says eventually. Tony understands Bruce doesn't have that same mentality as him; his “abilities” are a little less great power equals great responsibility than what Tony has. Tony has money and genius and resources and tech. He has to do _something._ All he has ever wanted to do is the right thing. Isn't this the right thing?

He has spent so long feeling like a cheap wind-up toy, being pointed in the direction other’s wanted him in, wound up and then released. He is tired of it. He's not playing by others' rules anymore.

Bruce nods. “But what do you want me to do? I’m not a psychiatrist, I’m not that kind of doctor, Tony.”

“I know, we’ll figure it out. Just- do I have your support in this?” he asks, his hands fidgeting. "I don't know that I'll need you, but if I do-"

“Yes, of course, Tony.”

Tony smiles wanly, clapped Bruce on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about to get real, ya'll!


	6. Chapter 6

Steve calls on a Tuesday. The weather is getting warmer and Tony takes to keeping the windows around the penthouse open enough to allow a breeze. Pepper likes it more than Tony does and he finds her doing paperwork around the place more often, so if a little breeze is what it takes to see her face he will happily power through it. He likes having her here, she is a reassuring presence and he has always felt more at ease with her nearby.

Steve's call catches Tony off his guard. He is in the kitchen, making Pepper and himself coffee like a good ex-boyfriend. It is a nice afternoon, undemanding and relaxed. He is in sweats and Pepper is filling out forms in a t-shirt -- an actual cheap Bruce Springsteen band t. He has done nothing all day other than plan out projects with Friday and he tinkers with this and that all while lounging on the sofa. His head just brushes her thigh. He feels a little more than _better than worse_ today, dare he say it.

The buzzing startles Tony and he reflexively moves to grab his own cell from his pocket. When he realizes it isn't his phone, he tenses. His eyes fall on The Drawer and he remembers The Phone and his stomach rolls with anxiety. He opens the drawer with jerky movements and grabs the phone and frowns at it’s illuminated screen.

He moves to the balcony, shutting the sliding door behind him. “You have shit for timing, you know that?"

“Tony?”

“What, Rogers?”

“I thought maybe we could talk?” It comes out more like a question, tentative and unsure in a way that Captain America should never be. It doesn't fit and Tony hates him a little more for it.

Tony bites his lip. This is not going to become a pattern. “Fuck. Okay, what?”

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d agree, honestly,” he says.

“Yeah, well, don’t start being honest on my account,” he says. “Make it quick.”

“How are you?” he asks.

Tony sighs. “Really? You wanna do _this.”_

“I wonder, okay. Is that criminal?”

“No _that_ particular act of yours is not incriminating,” Tony bites. “I’ve been fine, Rogers.” What he means is  _better than worse_ but how does he iterate that? “I’ve been good,” he says instead.

“That’s good.”

“You can’t keep calling me. We can’t _do_ this,” he says forcefully.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know that. I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing to me,” he says. “I don’t want your apologies.”

Steve stays silent.

“Look," he says, "while I’ve got you on the line, there’s something you might be interested in.”

“What is it?”

“I think I can help with Barnes,” he says.

“What?”

“Before you get all overprotective, hear me out. Banner and I have been toying with something. I think, possibly, I have a way of removing the Winter Soldier, it's all hypothetical right now, but-”

“Tony-”

“Just think on it,” he says, hanging up quickly.

He sighs, shaking his head as he steps back inside, fingering the phone in his hand. He throws the phone back in its drawer and goes back to the coffee. It isn't cold yet, just now reaching the palatable temperature Pepper prefers.

She smiles at him, perfect white teeth. Her hair isn't straightened today and curls at the ends, catching the sunlight that shines through the windows. Her bangs have grown out and she swoops them to one side. She looks beautiful. She thanks him for the coffee and offers him a warm smile. He thinks he might still be in love with her.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony grows comfortable in the silence of day to day life; of normalcy. He continues to be more hands-on with Stark Industries, Iron Man is nearly a once a month necessity, Spider-Man takes on most of the smaller crimes in the city while Peter focuses on high school.

It has been months since the monotony has been interrupted and Tony can't bring himself to really mind. It is nice. He splits his time between New York and Malibu. He continues fiddling with project _Ghost_ in his spare time, he has a peculiar determination to solve the puzzle of James Barnes’s mind that he struggles to justify to himself. He thinks he has figured something out but nothing is certain.

Tony thinks he might be doing better than _better than worse._ And then late July rolls around.

Tony is in the lab, working on prototypes for an upgraded power system for the Spider-Man suit. He is focusing on a backup power system and a way of routing power from the Stark Tower power core, or even from any activated Iron Man suit in dire enough circumstances to the Spider-Man suit. There was an incident a few weeks ago with some criminal that shocked the suit hard enough it powered down, leaving Peter more or less weaponless. Tony isn't having that. They are working on hand-to-hand skills as well. Peter has a good time throwing Happy square on his back.

Tony is elbow deep in the project when FRIDAY interrupts. The music lowers, catching his attention first.

“Boss, it seems you have a guest,” she says.

Tony frowns. “Who is it?” he asks.

“I couldn’t say. There is a hooded man outside the back entrance of SI, at the west exit. It appears he is debating whether to hit the buzzer or not.”

Tony pulls up the security cam. “How long’s he been there?”

“Approximately thirteen minutes."

Tony frowns at the figure. The man has a filthy sweatshirt on with the hood obscuring his face, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “You haven’t caught his face on camera at all?” he asks. “Any cameras?”

“No sir,” she says.

Tony sighs. The man is an imposing figure, taller than Tony and broad-shouldered. He paces, staying under the overhang and out of the rain. As he paces the light from passing cars catches and reflects off of _something_ along his wrist. It could easily be passed as a watch, but who really wears those anymore outside of fashion purposes? No one with shoes that torn up is buying watches. Maybe it's Tony’s paranoia, but it doesn't sit well with him.

Against his better judgment, he does down to the lobby. No one uses the back door, it's a fire exit really, down a corridor and past some office space. Tony opens the door, catching the man off guard. He jumps, surprised, looking at Tony with wide eyes. Tony’s eyes grow similarly large. “Barnes!?”

James Barnes looks like a cornered animal, close to bolting any second. His eyes are darting every which way, taking everything in with sharp perception. Tony swallows rising anger and forces himself to stay calm. He grabs Barnes by the back of the jacket, yanking him inside and letting the door fall shut behind them before pushing him arms-length away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The hood falls from Barnes’ head. He looks at Tony with stubborn determination. “Steve said you were looking for a way of removing the Winter Soldier.” There's a desperation that permeates every syllable.

“So you just show up at my door? In New York? How the hell did you- no, no, nevermind. I don’t want to know.” He looks Barnes up and down, keeping a distance between them. His instincts scream for the suit but he doesn't want to get ahead of himself. His pulse is like a jackhammer.

“Steve said you could fix me!” Barnes says. He does a shit poor job at concealing his desperation.

“Fix is a strong word,” he says. “Fuck. How did you get here?”

“They unfreeze me occasionally. Medical checkups they told me.”

“Cryogenics is a very questionable science.”

“Steve said you could get rid of the Winter Soldier,” he says. “But he wouldn’t let me leave. He didn’t think it was a good idea, he doesn’t trust you.”

Tony refuses to be offended by that. It isn't like this isn't a mutual distrust here.

“Steve wasn’t willing to risk me being caught on the _off chance Stark can fix you_ ,” he does a perfect imitation of Rogers and on any other occasion, Tony would laugh.

He eyes Barnes, deciding how much trust to hand this guy. Tony can see how tired Barnes is, he probably hasn't slept since leaving Wakanda. He looks rough. However he got here, it wasn't an easy journey. “You seem to be in your right mind,” Tony decides. He sighs. What the fuck are his options here? “C’mon then. We’re not having a conversation down here.” SI is mostly empty, being late afternoon on a Sunday, and it is easy enough for them to slip into a private elevator.

Tony brings them up to the penthouse, the elevator ride silent and tense. Barnes keeps his gaze on the floor, occasionally shooting a glance Tony’s way as if making sure he is still there. Tony makes sure to keep as wide a distance as he can between them. “You want a drink?” Tony offers as they entered the penthouse.

Barnes blinks at him and impatiently says, “I’m fine.”

Tony shrugs. “Suit yourself. God knows I need one.” After he pours himself a glass with trembling hands he starts in with the faux-interrogation. “Rogers told you I could _fix_ you,” he says and Barnes nods. “He lied. I can’t _fix_ anything, okay. Sorry to pop your bubble.”

“Steve said-!”

 _“Steve_ says a lot of shit, alright. Look, I was working on a project that had the endgame of altering your memories enough to _push_ the Winter Soldier out but it’s just that- a project. Your mental state isn’t my top priority.” So far the bulk of their plan involves a  _lot_ therapy. 

Barnes frowns and takes a step towards Tony who takes a step back, bumping into the barstools. Tony sees his life flash before his eyes and swallows thickly... but Barnes stops, his fists unclenching and clenching and unclenching. He lets out a deep breath. He looks away. “Stark, I am asking for your help.”

Tony frowns. _Not everything can fall to me._ “Whatever magic cure you’re looking for,” he says, “it doesn’t exist, okay?”

Barnes practically growls. “I’m asking you-”

“You aren’t my responsibility!” Tony snaps. He sets his glass down with a little more force than is strictly needed. He eyes Barnes, noticing how young the kid looks, younger than Steve even. The super soldiers may not age properly but last he had seen Rogers, the guy had definitely aged some; Tony could see it around his eyes, in the way he holds himself, and in the fine lines that have developed around his mouth. Stress has aged the guy, but fear seems to have kept Barnes young.

Barnes has yet to make eye contact with Tony, keeping his gaze anywhere else. His feet shift like he doesn't only not know where to look but where to stand.

Tony sighs. “Look,” he finally says, “all I’ve got are ideas and half-formed theories. I’m not going to experiment on you or test any hypothesis on you. I’m not touching your brain till I know what I’m dealing with.”

Barnes looks at him with so much hope it makes Tony want to squirm. “You’ll fix me?”

“I’ll _help_ you,” Tony corrects. “I’ll see what I can do anyway.”

Barnes’ eyes soften. “Thank you, Stark.”

Tony nods. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” Tony looks away, trying to calm his heart rate. “You’re not going to freak out if I lock you in a guest room, are you?” He asks. “Cus I might need that if I’m to get _any_ sleep tonight.”

“I’d question your sanity if you didn’t,” Barnes says.

 

* * *

 

Tony doesn't get any sleep that night. Even with Barnes locked in a spare guest room three floors below and with FRIDAY on high alert, it's a hopeless cause. After triple checking that Barnes’ room was virtually inescapable and hulk-proof, Tony has gone to bed. It's early, especially by his standards, but he feels like he hasn't slept in years. A bone weary exhaustion took root inside of him and he doesn't think anything but sleep will shake it. His diazepam is running low, he shoots off a text to Pepper asking her to remind him to refill his prescription.

He lays in bed that night, willing the drug to do its job. He hates the feeling of his chest restricting, the tremble in his hands, the way his palms sweat. Absently, he recognizes the signs of a mild anxiety attack. He remembers falling asleep that night wrapped tight around his spare pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hear me out... I have an idea. And it may or may not involve Bucky Barnes. 
> 
> See, I used to hate Bucky, and then I realized I actually don't. I just hate saltine cracker Steve and hated Bucky by proxy. I realized if you remove Barnes from Rogers, then he's actually a pretty okay guy.  
> And that's essentially the basis for me writing this story in the first place. 
> 
> So... thoughts?


	8. Chapter 8

Tony wakes in the morning sweat drenched and trembling. He can’t breathe correctly and with each breath he does manage to pull in he feels like he is choking. He feels dizzy and nauseous and as his stomach rolls he forces himself out of bed and to the bathroom. He dry heaves over the toilet, and, having forgot to eat dinner the night before, the only thing in his stomach is a finger of whiskey.

As he finally manages to drag himself to his feet he takes a quick shower, rinsing off the sweat. He throws on a hoodie and calls it good enough.

The knowledge of having James Barnes in his house — his home — weighes heavily on his mind and the thought alone of interacting with the man sends a wave of nausea through him. “FRIDAY, what’s Barnes doing?” he asks, taking a seat on his bed and grabbing his tablet. He has a reply text from Pepper, a few emails, a couple texts from Peter — okay, a lot of texts from Peter. The kid is an enthusiastic texter.

The AI responds immediately. “Mr. Barnes is still asleep, Boss.”

“No shit?”

“He was awake and moving about his restricted area until one thirty-two in the morning,” she says. “At which time he moved to his bed where he stayed until he fell asleep at approximately three oh-four.”

“What was he doing?” he asks.

“Pacing, mostly,” she replies. “He appeared to be gazing out his window for sixteen minutes. Then paced around the floor, appearing to be exploring his liminal space. Most of his evening was spent window gazing and sitting on his bed.”

Tony swallows the information, unsure what any of it means. It seems harmless enough but Tony isn't in the habit of taking anything at face value. Tony taps a rhythm against the side of his tablet. He should call Bruce, he thinks. Someone ought to know he is harboring a fugitive and a murderer. Someone should know who to first suspect if Tony winds up being smothered in his sleep. Bruce will certainly be pissed with Tony if he is kept out of this loop as well.

Tony sighs and runs a hand across his face. He is still so exhausted, his whole body feeling like it hasn’t rested at all last night. He feels old.

He moves to the kitchen, starting up the coffee maker and shuffling around on socked feet looking for something to eat. He half expects The Phone to ring, sitting untouched for the past several months in its drawer. Like Rogers will somehow _know_ that Barnes is here and be out for Tony’s head. It is a daunting prospect but Tony wouldn’t be surprised. He sighs. “FRIDAY, order the usual from Angelo's,” he says. “Double it.” Surely Barnes is hungry.

The food arrives thirty minutes later, and Tony is debating whether to take Barnes’ food to him or invite him up. The question of how much trust, if any, to lend the guy weighes heavy on Tony’s mind. There is an ugly seed of fear taking root in the pit of his gut and it twists his insides with anxiety and terror.

Tony takes a deep breath and knocks on the door before FRIDAY let him in. Barnes is nowhere to be seen. “Fuck.” He enters the room, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He half expects Barnes to drop from the ceiling super-spy style and strangle him with his thighs. Although, that could be him misplacing his fear of Natasha. Rightfully so! he might add. “Barnes?”

Nothing. Awesome.

There is a thump from the bathroom, followed by another.

Tony approaches the bathroom door, knocking a few times. “You alive in there?” he asks. The door opens and Tony takes a step back.

“What are you doing in here?” Barnes asks. He looks frazzled, his hair hanging loose and damp around his face and his eyes wide. “I mean…” he clears his throat. “What do you want?”

Tony frowns. “I'm glad you figured out the shower. You hungry?”

“What?”

“Food? Sustenance? Are you hungry?”

Barnes blinks. “You’re offering me breakfast?” he asks.

“I’m not offering, I already ordered it,” he says. “It’s upstairs.”

He looks increasingly confused. “Why are you being kind to me?” he asks. “I don’t understand.”

Tony rolls his eyes and sighs. “Look, I don’t want you here. I think that’s relatively obvious taking into account our last encounter,” he says. “So, there’s that. But I’m trying not to be an asshole here. Which I do have the right to be, by the way,” he says firmly. “I _do_. I’m trying to extend an olive branch, or whatever, alright? You’re here, so I’m trying to go from there."

“You don’t hate me?”

Tony swallows. “I hate the man who killed my mother,” he says.

Barnes nods solemnly, looking like he is preparing for a blow.

“That man isn’t you,” Tony says.

Barnes blinks. “What?”

“You’re not him,” he says. “He’s in there somewhere, but you’re not him. So come upstairs and eat your fucking breakfast.” Tony doesn’t look back to see if Barnes is following. Fuck him.

 

* * *

 

 

Silence envelopes the kitchen like a thick blanket that is palpable in the air. Tony sits at the kitchenette table where he has a clear view of the space around him. Barnes sits directly across the room from him at the bar. Tony eats, tapping away at his tablet, answering e-mails, planning projects, and texting with Pepper. He glances up every few seconds to check that Barnes hasn't moved.

The man eats slowly yet ravenously, making a very clear effort not to inhale it all down at once. Tony takes note of that. He imagines the man has the same appetite as Rogers, and if Tony’s assumptions are correct, then Barnes has to be starving.

Tony is deep in thought, it takes him a moment to realize he is being spoken to. “Sorry, what?”

“You keep staring at me,” Barnes repeats.

Tony swallows. “Yeah well, you're a super sold- a _criminal_ super soldier eating scrambled eggs in my kitchen. I'm a little tense.”

“Why are you doing this then?” He asks, setting his fork down.

Tony hesitates; he doesn’t look like he has murderous intent, so what the hell? “Because I'm trying to do the right thing,” he says. “Because I want to, not because anyone else is telling me to. I'm not doing this for Steve, I'm not doing it because I wanna take out whoever killed my parents.” He takes a deep breath. “I'm doing it for you.”  _And to prove that I can._

“You don't know me.”

“I know you're not the Winter Soldier,” he says. He gestures wildly at him. “You, you right now, you're not him. I told you, he's a part of you but, he's not you.”

“How can you say that?” The chair screeches as it drags across the floor. Barnes is on his feet in seconds, standing with his shoulders squared. “How can you think that!?”

“Because I have to!” Tony shouts. “I’m trying to do something good here, alright? I’m trying to do something _selfless_ , can you let me do that? Has no one ever told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Tony runs a hand through his hair, the other resting on the counter as he tries steadying his heart rate, the muscle is trying to beat right up his throat. “You asked me to do this, could you let me do this?”

Barnes swallows and ducks his head.

Tony wishes he knew what is going on in there. He wishes he could understand Barnes but it’s pointless. The man is a lockbox and the key is MIA. The thing is, Tony means what he said. He means what he told Barnes and he means what he told Bruce, he wants to do something for someone… because he can. Not because he needs to, or because he was asked, or because he wants to really - because when it comes down to it, he isn’t looking forward to this all too much. Part of him enjoys the thrill of doing what everyone is telling him not to; proving that he can do it.

Maybe he is atoning for something, trying to right his wrongs; repent. Who knows? He is choosing not to think too much of it. Self-reflection is a slippery slope.

“We’ll run tests today,” Tony says. “Come down to the lab later and we can get started. It shouldn’t take too long. I need to make some calls.” Tony leaves the room for his labs, he needs to take a moment to gather himself. He needs to breathe. “Friday, keep an eye on him,” he says. "Make sure he keeps to his floor and the communal one."

“Yes, Boss.”

 

* * *

 

Steve calls while Tony’s running brain scans on Barnes, they’ve got a small MRI device, that Tony made himself, running. Tony’s not expecting anything from the results, but he’s covering his bases and his ass. He means it when he had said he isn't taking chances, isn’t touching Barnes’ head till he knows exactly what he is dealing with.

FRIDAY pings him on his cell, letting him know The Phone is ringing in its oak prison. Tony sighs and has FRIDAY transfer the call to his cell. “Just sit tight,” he tells Barnes. He moves a few paces away and answers the call. “What do you want?”

“Bucky’s missing,” Steve says immediately, jumping right into it then. He sounds out of breath but Tony doesn't bother asking about it.

“Okay, and _how_ is that my problem?” Tony asks. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation. Remind me again what I said?”

“Tony, please.” He sounds annoyed and Tony can’t help but smile.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me. I haven’t seen him.” He shoots a look over at Barnes and catches him staring. Right, the enhanced hearing. Tony always forgets about that. He holds a finger to his lips, gesturing for him to stay quiet. “Maybe he got tired of you always telling him what to do,” he says.

“This is serious, Stark. It’s not safe for him to be wandering around.”

“For him or for the general public? Look, I don’t have time for this. Hope you find your runaway puppy.”

“Tony-”

“Bye, Rogers!” He hangs up and grins. That had felt good, he won’t lie.

Bucky is frowning at him.

“What?”

Bucky shakes his head, tight-lipped.

Tony tosses his phone aside. “Not approving of me lying to your boyfriend? What is the deal with you and Rogers anyway?” He can’t stop himself from asking but regrets it the moment it slips from his lips.

“What do you mean?” Barnes asks. “Steve’s my friend. He’s always been, or so I’m told.”

“You really don’t remember?” Tony asks. He moves the MRI aside and Bucky turns, his feet hanging over the edge of his seat.

Bucky shakes his head.

“Nothing?” he asks.

“There are flashes,” he says somberly. “Fractions of things I can recall if reminded. But I don’t remember Bucky Barnes. I don’t remember most of the Winter Soldier either. I’ve been wiped so many times, I can’t tell what’s what anymore. Not that it really matters. I don’t remember your parents,” he admits. He ducks his head, his hands lying limply in his lap.

Tony purses his lips, his gaze falling on his shoes.

“I’m sorry,” Barnes says. “I probably should have said that earlier. I take responsibility for it, but I can’t remember it. So for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Tony nods. He isn’t sure he accepts the apology just yet. He’ll let it marinate and get back to it later. The effort doesn’t go unappreciated, however.

Bucky sighs. “That’s what Steve doesn’t understand. He refuses to accept that that was me, that any part of Bucky Barnes could be capable of any of that. But that was me.” He looks so frustrated, his hands restlessly moving through the air. “I’m not who he wants me to be. I’m not Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn,” he says. “I don’t remember him.”

Tony sighs, sitting heavily on his workbench. “Looks like neither of us could be who Steve wanted us to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's that for ya'll. I hope you like it. I really like this chapter and the upcoming ones I have completed. The next few might be a bit slower to come.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony can’t sleep that night. Again.

It’s late, early morning, and the moon is half full in the sky, it's glow obscured by the city lights. Tony misses Malibu. He misses the quiet and the sounds of traffic that are replaced by Pacific waves against rock. He thinks he can use some of that California sunshine as well.

He thinks maybe, for a moment, that he might be feeling the beginnings of an anxiety attack but it feels different. He lays there on his mattress staring at his ceiling. He realizes something, realizes that this is not what he expected.

It is an oddly bland epiphany that leaves Tony breathless with the mundanity of it all. He feels like there should be some huge explosions or massive blow out. Instead he just lays there, and he thinks.

He calls Pepper.

“Tony? Are you okay?” she asks. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

He can hear her sigh but there is no annoyance behind it. “What are you thinking about, Tony?”

“James Barnes,” he replies.

“I can’t say that’s the answer I was expecting.”

Tony snorts. “Sorry to disappoint.” He has told Pepper, of course, about Barnes being at the tower. It’s more of him telling her to stay away from the tower for awhile. He doesn't think Barnes would attack her but he isn’t going to take any chances, not where Pepper is involved. “I’ve just realized some things.”

“What have you realized, Tony?” she asks.

“I don’t hate him,” he says blandly.

“No?”

“No. Is that wrong?” he asks.

“Why would you think that?”

“Shouldn’t I hate him? He killed my mother.”

“You said the Winter Soldier killed your mother,” she says. “Not James Barnes.”

“Right. But still.”

“No one’s going to make you feel something you don’t.” She sighs. “There’s nothing wrong with not hating him.”

“That doesn’t make me a robot?” he asks, sounding even to his own ears like he is searching for validation. Pepper always has wanted him to be more open about his feelings.

“Tony. You are the kindest man I know,” she tells him. “Your lack of hate for Barnes doesn’t mean you didn’t love your mother. You’re offering Barnes the empathy and an opportunity that no one else ever has. In no way does that diminish your love for your mother.”

Tony sighs, running a hand across his face. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

A moment passes where nobody speaks just listened to the other breathe.

“Please get some sleep, Tony. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Okay, Pep. Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one!


	10. Chapter 10

Tony is woken by the loud humming of his phone vibrating against his nightstand. He groans, rolling over and fumbling for the obnoxious little device, preferably to smash it against the wood. He rolls over and checks the caller ID, flinching from the harsh white light. He curses and rolls his eyes, answering the call with a, “yeah?”

“Stark? Were you sleeping?” Stephen Strange asks, his voice far too chipper.

“What do you think, genius?” he says, scratching his beard and stretching his limbs. “Who calls people at…” he checks the clock on his phone, “eleven… fifteen.”

“Yeah.” Strange’s smile is evident in his voice. “Someone needs to be the one to wake Sleeping Beauty.”

“How kind of you, my Prince Charming.”

Strange snorts. “You asked me to call you back,” he says. “This is me calling you back. Does today still work for you?”

“‘Course,” Tony says. He blinks against the sunlight as FRIDAY draws the blinds. “Come by the Tower whenever. Just…” he yawns. “Give me an hour or so to wake up. Come on up to the penthouse when you do.”

“I’ll be there,” Strange says. “Sorry to wake you.”

He hangs up and Tony tosses the phone aside. “Jerk.” He scowls at the ceiling. He supposes he should be grateful, but fuck it. He does kind of like Stephen Strange. They had a rocky start but it looks like it can have a pretty okay finish. Pepper described it as a clashing of two personalities. Tony can’t argue, he is very brash and Stephen is a total diva  

He manages to pull himself out of bed and into passable clothes. He struggles to find a pair of socks and after doing so moves downstairs.

He fumbles with the coffee maker, then grabs a protein bar and calls it good enough. Barnes is already up, quietly sitting in the living room and watching the news like he has all three mornings since he’s been there. “Did you eat?” Tony asks him.

He looks at Tony quizzically, like he’s a puzzle and Tony hates it, and says, “did you?”

Tony gestures with his protein bar and Barnes sticks up his nose.

“You’re disgusting. There’s fresh fruit in the fridge and you’re eating a protein bar.”

“Where’d we get fresh fruit?” Tony asks as he chews  

Barnes shrugs, eyes glued back to channel four. “Your grocer stopped by this morning.”

“Oh,” he says, before realizing something. “And… how was that?” he asks.

“Fine, I guess.”

“You were… fine?”

Barnes sighs. “Yes, Stark, I was fine. I didn’t try to choke out your grocery boy.”

Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, got it, sheesh.” Tony eyes him, taking in the man before him. He is dressed in the new clothes Pepper had sent over for him; jeans and a plain hoodie that the guy has practically been living in. He is showered, his hair pulled back in a loose bun, and more or less clean shaven. Trusting the guy with a sharp object was a hard decision but Tony sure as shit wasn’t going to shave for him. “You sleep okay?” he asks.

“Why do you care?” he asks suspiciously.

“Can’t I guy just ask? Christ. I’m trying to be civil, most people would applaud my efforts here.”

Barnes looks nonplussed.

“Strange is coming by today,” Tony tells him.

“Who?”

“Doctor Stephen Strange,” he says flippantly. “He’s your magic cure.”

Just like that Tony has the man’s undivided attention. He hops off the sofa and looks at Tony as if he’s not convinced Tony is being serious as if Tony were that cruel.

“Literally,” he says. “He’s a sorcerer. Or so he says, I mean magic is just unstudied science, so really-”

“Stark!”

“What?”

“Stephen Strange?”

“Right, yeah, he’s going to take a look at your head,” Tony says. “See whatever he can see. He’s a smart guy and he knows what he’s doing. Sorcerer Supreme or some shit. He’s not all flash without substance, so I’d let him do what he says he needs to do.”

“Believe me,” Barnes says emphatically, “I won’t complain.”

Tony nods. Yeah, he had suspected as much. Barnes seems prepared to do whatever he needs to eliminate a threat, even if said threat is himself. Tony can understand that. “He should be here in about an hour.”

Barnes nods.

“Really though,” Tony says, “are you alright?”

Barnes looks at him, eyes softer. There is still a tension in his shoulders that has been there since their first encounter. The man lives in a blanket of unease, it has to be exhausting. “Anxious, I guess,” he admits. He looks so young. “What does it matter? Why do you care?”

Tony shakes his head. He has gotten so used to forcing himself to be interested in the Parker’s lives — which, admittedly, turned into actual intrigue and concern and interest — maybe he is a little caught up in the act. “Haven’t decided if I really do or not yet,” he says honestly. “Entertain me?”

Barnes sighs. “My mind,” he says, his blue eyes lock onto Tony with an intensity that is intimidating, “is like an ocean. It’s chaos day in and day out. Violent waves crashing against rocky shores without forgiveness.”

Tony swallows.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Little melodramatic for my tastes.”

Barnes shrugs and goes back to his news.

 

* * *

 

Tony refuses to be startled when Stephen Strange materializes in his kitchen. Materializes was being used literally, Tony doesn't actually see him show up, just turns around, a glass of water in hand, and the man is just _there._ Tony jumps and drops his glass.

Strange catches the glass before it can hit the ground and grins broadly at Tony. _Catches._ He stops the thing mid fall without so much as touching it.

“Someone needs to get you a bell or something.”

“Sorry,” Strange says, setting the glass on the counter. “I’ve been told I need to work on that.”

“Weird silent fuck.”

Strange’s smile grows and he says, “I’ll try to remember to announce myself next time.”

“Stark?” Barnes comes wandering into the room. “Who the hell are you talking to?” he asks. “Oh. You’re Doctor Strange?”

Stephen nods and offers Barnes a kind smile. “I am. You must be James Barnes. Tony’s told me you could use some assistance.” He looks at Tony. “Should we just get to it then?” he asks. “I don’t know, you called me. Tony, what’s the plan?” He rambles, a little frown etching across his dark brows.

“The lab,” Tony says. “It’s… better for this sort of stuff. Probably. I have no idea.” Tony is winging this so hard right now.

Bucky goes to the same chair Tony had him sit in the last time they were down here. Tony sees him swallow thickly, a look of unease on his face. Tony can understand that. Magic is uncharted territory and if this is going to go anything like it had when he had Wanda in his head then this isn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park. “So what do you have to do exactly?” he asks.

“It’s a little complicated to explain,” Strange says, “without a thorough understanding of magic-“

”Science,” Tony ejects.

Stephen rolls his eyes and his patients truly is admirable. “Of magic. Even then I’m afraid I’m not good at explaining it. It’s like breathing, you don’t have to consciously tell your lungs to inhale. It’s second nature.”

“That’s comforting,” Bucky quips.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Strange smiles wanly.

Tony sits at his workbench, his arms crossed over his chest. He feels kind of useless, there isn’t a lot he can do. It’s all in Strange’s hands. He would be lying if he says it isn’t a little annoying.

“Just sit still,” Strange tells him, placing the tips of his fingers along Bucky’s temples. Tony watches as Strange’s face takes on an intensity and focus he has never seen there before. “You shouldn’t feel a thing,” he promises.

It is amazing, really, seeing the way Barnes' face falls lax; peaceful. Every muscle he has held unconsciously tense for so long begins to relax and smooth. The tension in his shoulders eases. Every frown and wrinkle in his forehead smooths. Tony finds himself leaning forward where he sits. He glances at Strange, seeing the sorcerer's eyes fluttering shut. Barnes’ expression looks as thought Strange has just quite literally lifted the weight of the world off of his shoulders. It has all taken only roughly three minutes of contact, and just like that... 

Silently, Strange opens his eyes and removes his fingers. He curiously watches Barnes closely as the super soldier releases a deep breath. When Barnes opens his eyes as well Strange asks, “how do you feel?”

“Calm,” he says. He smiles at Tony, a small and unfamiliar thing, but it reaches his eyes all the same. “No more waves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo....... that's done. I'll see you all next time on Tony Stark's Life Is Fucking Weird!


	11. Chapter 11

Tony doesn't know what he is expecting so far as… _results_ from Strange’s visit. It all seems a little too easy, if you ask him. Just a brief little pop-in from a fucking wizard and suddenly everything is sunshine and sparkles? A brand new Bucky Barnes ready to do his duty as a good Samaritan isn't realistic, Tony thinks. A Boy Scout, cookie-cutter, Steve Rogers carbon copy isn't an expectation either (more of a small fear Tony has repeatedly told himself is ridiculous to have anyway). He isn't expecting a complete one-eighty from Barnes, he isn't even expecting a measurable change of any kind, so to see that there _is_ one, came as an insurmountable surprise that Tony is still wrapping his head around.

The day after… Strange, things seem normal enough, or what Tony hadscome to consider normal for Barnes.

Barnes is sat in the living room, watching the morning news as per usual, when Tony comes strolling in still sleepy-eyed and yawning.

“‘Morning, old man,” Barnes says, sitting on the sofa and eating a bowl of corn flakes.

That is Tony’s first sign that things are going to be… _different_. Barnes is never one to initiate the conversation and not once has he greeted Tony. “Who’re you calling old, you’re like, eighty,” Tony says indignantly.

“Yeah, but I look damn good.”

Tony snorts. “When did you develop a sense of humour?” he asks.

“Since I no longer fear an integral part of my personality,” he replies blandly. “It’s very morally uplifting.”

Tony waits for his coffee to finish brewing before joining the super soldier in the living room. “So you really feel, I don’t know, different?” he asks. “‘Cos you’re being awfully talkative, and doing so without the morbid undertones." Or looking like he is about to cave in on himself.

Barnes shrugs. “Yeah, I mean… I don’t feel like I’m…” he shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain. I still feel like me, but… calm, I guess, was accurate. Before, I always feel this tension. Like, is the next sentence that comes out of this person’s mouth going to be it? Am I going to kill this guy? And when it wasn’t that, it was this wondering of, is this my target?” He wets his lips. “I guess it hasn’t completely gone away. Strange said all he really did was remove Hydra’s influence. So really, all that’s changed is that constant feeling of having to _do_ something. Of having some bigger purpose you have no control over.”

Tony leans against the side of the armchair, half sat on the armrest, and allows Barnes vent. He figures it's probably therapeutic for the guy. And he is still a little scared of him, if he's being totally honest, and isn't exactly enthusiastic to interrupt him.

Barnes swallows. “So, I don’t know. I just feel lighter.”

Tony nods. That makes sense, he thinks. He has read up on all those government sanctioned mind control experiments, MK-Ultra, Project Monarch, Operation Artichoke, the works. He remembers reading testimonies of victims, remembers them saying similar things to what Barnes is telling him.

“It’s confusing,” he goes on. “Disorienting. I’ve been afraid of Hydra for so long. Without them having any influence over me anymore, I just… I don’t really know what to do with myself.” He looks at Tony and cracks a sliver of a smile. “Guess that’s why I’m still hanging around here.”

Tony chuckles. “I say we get you the best psychiatrist we can find.”

“You’re a fine one to talk.”

“Hey,” Tony says. “I’m working out my issues, smart mouth. I’ll have you know I see a psychiatrist twice a week.” He’s recently started and he is quite proud of himself.

“Really? I’m impressed. Never got the impression Stark men were much for sharing.”

“Yeah, that’s because we’re not,” Tony says. He moves around the sofa and takes a seat, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Dad used to say we were made of iron.”

Barnes snorts. “Fitting.”

“Tell me about it. My life is one long really bad joke.”

“Guess a psychiatrist could work,” he admits, his expression pensive. “Talking to you’s getting pretty old. My problems aren’t yours anyway.”

“What’s with that whole you sharing with the group thing? Specifically me.”

“Guess I got tired of not talking,” he says with a shrug. “Nobody asks the Asset what he's thinking. And, for some reason, I think I trust you.”

“Really? Steve’s told me I have a very untrustworthy face.”

“Yeah, and Steve has a very trustworthy one, and look where that got you.”

“Touché.”

“The morning after I showed up here…” he trails off. “I’d done nothing but harm to you and you were kind to me. I’m not used to that. Even in Wakanda no one was _nice._ Steve I could trust, but he’s Steve. Even when either of us had nothing, we had each other. I could blow the world apart and at the end of the day I’d still have Steve by my side.

“What happened, that was…” He scoffs. “Well, it wasn’t exactly reason to lend a guy a hand. I didn’t expect you to give me the time of day. But, I didn’t know what else to do, desperation is really something. I still don’t understand why you helped me.”

“Yeah, I’m still figuring that out as well,” Tony says. “Anyway,” he raises his coffee mug in a sloppy mock of a toast, “here’s to us. Still kickin' around despite the universes best efforts.”

Barnes ducks his head in an attempt to hide a smile. “And may the universe keep on tryin’.”

Tony barks a laugh. “You’re not half bad, Barnes.”

“You can call me James,” he says. “The last name thing is getting kind of old.”

“Just be happy I haven’t given you a wacky nickname,” Tony says. He takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m sure I’ll think one up later.”


	12. Chapter 12

Tony is past being surprised by almost anything life throws his way anymore. Really, at this point, his life is so weird he isn’t sure what constituts normal. Having an ex-Hydra super soldier staying in his guest room, a master magician stop by for a visit, a kid who dresses as a spider in his free time look up to him -- honestly, it's a little beyond ridiculous and bordering on cartoonish.

So Tony takes a day.

After ensuring that Barnes -- James, as he has begun insisting Tony now call him -- is good and fine on his own in the tower, Tony leaves the city. He and Pepper pack some bags and take the car out of town, past Randall’s park and Lafayette Ave; past the marina and the golf courses; Glencove and Plainview. Pepper sits silently in the passenger seat most of the drive, watching in awe as they pass timeless manors and estates. The changing weather gives Long Island a daydreamy and haunted look. Pepper rolls the windows down as they near East Hampton, letting the breeze drown the two of them in its easiness. They drive until they make it to a large, stone blockade with a wrought iron gate. A large "S" is engraved in the metal, tucked away in a thick brush of trees and foliage, hidden away like a secret that lay lost for decades.

The old Stark family residence is a beautiful thing, uninhabited for decades now. Tony pulls into the mansion’s circle drive, kicking up dead leaves and sending birds chirping a fleeing. Tony throws the car in park. The house looks more or less as Tony remembers it, save for a few untamed florae and an ivy that has made it’s way along the east side of the house. It gives it charm, he thinks.

“Tony, where are we?” Pepper asks. She climbs out of the car, looking up at the manor with wonder in her eyes. Her jacket hangs loosely over her shoulders in a less than pristine way that he has once thought her incapable of.  

Tony comes up beside her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “The old family home,” he says. He gestures broadly and says without inflection, "tada.”

Pepper looks at him with shock, her eyes wide and sparkling. “Why have you never taken me here before?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I haven’t been here in years myself. It wasn’t the happiest of places,” he says. “Besides, dad’s old labs are wildly out of date. The tech is uselessly behind the times. I didn’t really care to update it before.”

“And now?” she asks.  

Tony shrugs. “I’ve been reconsidering a lot of things.”

Pepper nods then smiles. “You know, this is the old money life style I’ve always suspected of the Starks.”

Tony laughs. “Come one, I’ll show you around.” He offers her his arm and the two of them head inside. The front entrance is a grand thing that carries the luxury and dramatics of turn of the century architecture, a winding staircase greets them, fine tiled floors and sleek whitewalls. There is something about the place Tony has always known would be timeless.

“The place is spotless,” Pepper says.

“I had a cleaning crew sent up a few days ago,” Tony confesses. “And before that, I sent some guys to refurbish the place. Repairs, new furniture, fully stocked kitchen. Amenities have all been reconnected. All the necessities for a little vacay. Everything’s in working order.”

Pepper looks at Tony with so much tenderness and just… affection. “Tony,” she breathes. She practically dances into the family room, a beautiful space with wide doors that lead to the yard. The sunlight streams in through the sheer drapes, catching in her strawberry locks and illuminating her in a way that nearly takes Tony’s breath away. “Tony, this place is gorgeous.”

“It certainly has a charm,” he agrees. The place has a calming effect that he finds desperately comforting. It was like the stress of the city has washed away on the drive over. Long Island always did have that effect, as though it was the only place that matters, unaffected by the outside world. Untouchable.

“How old is this place?” Pepper asks him.

Tony shrugs. “Jarvis said it was built sometime in the late nineteenth century,” he says. “Must have been a real site in it’s hayday.”

“Big parties, loud music, fireworks,” she says dreamily. Her fingers glid along the back of the sofa. “I might have read _the Great Gatsby_ one too many times,” she admits with a laugh.

“Just one too many,” he says. “If the stories mom used to tell hold any weight, then you’re not far off the mark.”

She looks at him fondly, her wide smile softening. “Do I get the grand tour or…?” she asks expectantly.

“Oh, of course, where _are_ my manners, Lady Potts,” he says with over dramatics. “Please, if you’ll come with me this way,” he says in his British accent he had perfected as a child, learnt from mimicking Jarvis.

Pepper finds the rest of the house just as charming, giving enthusiastic _ah_ ’s and _ooh_ ’s at each room. She finds the rustic charm of the library particularly impressive and is quite taken with the window seat that has a perfect view of the docks. She always did have a penchant for old things and Tony can see her falling in love with the house more and more with each moment. Maybe this place isn't so bad, he thinks.

He can practically see Pepper in a beautiful, short, gold dress. Beads and pearls. Her gorgeous strawberry hair curling just below her ears. He's sure they have some old jazz records laying around someplace. He could bust out an old tux. They could have a party. He could make all her Gatsby fantasies a reality. 

The indoor pool in the basement is empty, yet Pepper has some strange fascination with it that Tony is remiss to comprehend. He always did have a suspicion that she was that oddball kid in high school that carried around polaroids and took candid photos of mundane things and profess it as art. This seems to fit that thesis.

“Is there a boat?” she asks, as they walk along the back patio, looking out at the bay. Tony has gotten them both glasses of wine from the old cellar his mother had put in, and it's all around very peaceful. 

“In the boathouse,” he answers. “We can take it out on the water if you want.”

“Maybe later. Tomorrow,” she decides. “This place really is gorgeous, Tony. Why suddenly have it fixed up? All you’ve ever said about the place is that it exists.”

He shrugs and comes to a stop in their stroll. “Dunno. I thought you’d like it, I guess. Being away from it all just sounded… nice.” He sighs and set his glass aside before stuffing his hands back in his pockets. It's becoming a bad habit. “With everything that’s been going on with the company and Barnes and the Avengers, I just thought…” he shrugs.

“I’d say you picked the perfect place,” she says, looking around them. She takes a sip of her drink.

Tony doesn't follow her gaze, he has seen it all before: the bay, the harbor, the way the evening sun reflected off the water. He is too busy watching her, as cliché as that is, he can't keep his eyes off of her. She's… so much of who he is.

“Have I told you ‘thank you’ recently?” he asks.

“For what?” There's an ounce of suspicion in her eyes, but the smile still lingers lazily across her lips.

“Being the best CEO in the world,” he says. “And all around the best human.”

“Not recently, no. But it’s nice to hear on occasion.” She eyes him analytically. “You’re not dying again, are you?”

“What? No. Why-?” He shakes his head. “No. I’m trying to be open with my feelings.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Tony.”

He shakes his head again. “Pepper, if I was dying you would be the first to know,” he promises sincerely.

“Tony.”

“Pepper, I-”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she says simultaneously, cutting him off. “Sorry, what were you going to say?”

“I’m trying to- I wanted to tell you… if you maybe- if you thought that it was a good idea… I’m trying to tell you-”

He is half way through a botched delivery when she silences him herself. Her lips are soft against his own, warm and inviting. God, he has missed her. She is everything he has ever needed and he needs her _so much_. Things weren't right before when they tried doing this, he knows that now. They fumbled through a relationship, unsure where to step and how this dance went. Tony knew he was shit at it then, but he's better now. He's a different person, they both are, in ways. They're both better. Tony knows how to love her now and  _god_ does he want to love her.

Pepper pulls away first, a small gasp escaping her parted lips. “Tony. Tony, no- I… we can’t.” She shakes her head, as though she weren't the one to lean in first.

“Pepper,” he says breathlessly.

“Tony, I told you: I can’t be with you if you’re going to continue to ignore your health.” She puts a hand on his chest, as if to hold him at bay. Yet her fingers slid into the hem of his jacket, curling against the suede. Tony doesn't know if she is holding him back or in place. “I want to be with you, but I’m not selfish enough to do that to you. You need to take care of yourself, that’s what’s most important.”

“Pep-”

“I’m proud of you for taking your meds regularly, but pills can’t fix everything. You need help, and I can’t be all of that for you. That’s not fair to you.”

“Pepper-!”

“Tony-”

“I’m seeing a psychiatrist!” he ejects.

“What?”

“I am getting help.”

“Wha- for how long?”

“Almost three months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

Tony shrugs uselessly. “It didn’t come up.”

“Tony, that’s- that’s really good.”

He rests his forehead against hers, exhaling heavily.

“Why did you take me here, Tony?” She asks. “Really?”

“I wanted to be alone with you,” he admits. “Is that so bad?”

Pepper laughs. “All you had to do was ask, Mr. Stark.”

"I didn't want to be too forward, Ms. Potts."

 

* * *

 

Tony can't sleep that night, but it's for far different reasons than what have become an old hat for him. He lays in bed late into the night with Pepper sprawled out beside him. His fingers run through her hair. They are still fully dressed in their night clothes, the cool silk of Pepper's nightshirt is smooth against his arm. The room is dark and peaceful, a gentle breeze coming in through the window and billowing the sheer curtain. They can hear the water crashing against the rocks and birds chattering along the shore. Every so often Tony can see the silhouette of a bat swoop by the large window.

“Why did you wait for me?” Tony asks softly. “I mean, I was with Steve for three years and you were alone that whole time.”

Pepper hums. “I didn’t want anyone else,” she says. “Breaking up was my idea, but it wasn’t because I don’t love you. I wanted you to get better and I thought I might be in the way. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. You have so much on your plate,” she says. “I didn’t want to become another responsibility. I don’t want our relationship to be a chore.” She swallows, taking Tony’s silence as a green light to keep going. “And the thought of being in the way of your recovery made me sick.

“And, of course, there’s the fear of losing you. Thinking that if we’re not romantically involved I can somehow distance myself.” She laughs bitterly. “Stupid,” she says. “Should have known that would never work.”

Tony smiles. “Good to know you never stopped worrying.”

Pepper stretches and turns to wrap her arms around him. “You were happy with Steve,” she says. “That’s all I want for you. So I was content to be witness to any part of your happiness.”

Tony swallows then kissed her on the forehead. “You’re my best friend,” he tells her.

Pepper looks up to meet his eyes. “You’re my best friend, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some advice, don't binge canon-compliant x-men fic, that shit will send you SPIRALING into depression, ffs. This fic has been my reprieve it seems. This chapter had a bit of a different tone, I think. I have an endgame with all this though, and this chapter was very important in getting there. So I hope y'all enjoyed this (Peter will return shortly, so just hold ur fuckin horses).  
> I'm off to cure my X-Men induced depression with coffee and a Twin Peaks marathon! Good day!


	13. Chapter 13

Tony forgot how quiet the mornings on Long Island can be. Out in the Hamptons, there seems to be no rush. The house is secluded in a thick brush of trees, no neighbors in sight and no signs of civilization outside of a few boats that are already cruising along the harbor. A few small fishing trolleys, a yacht or two.

Tony wakes on the morning of their third day in the old home and stretches, joints popping pleasantly, and turns to be met with the sight of a sleeping strawberry blonde. It brings a warm smile to his face and he grins into her hair. Look at them, actually talking about feelings and _sharing._ He thinks maybe this is what Barnes meant by morally uplifting, he feels a weight leave his own shoulders.

He rises before Pepper, a rare occurrence, but Tony won't be surprised at this point if they fall into the Twilight Zone. It will actually make a lot of sense. He wanders into the kitchen, feeling a sense of nostalgia, memories long forgotten being dragged to the forefront of his mind. His mother had never once stepped foot in this kitchen, yet all of Tony’s fondest memories were made here. Jarvis practically raised him, the two of them spent a lot of time in this kitchen. Tony never quite learned how to cook, but he spent a lot of time watching Jarvis do so.

He hated this house for a long, long time. He hated it with every fiber of himself. He hasn’t been back here since the funeral, the evening still sitting crystal clear in his mind. The visitation was long and arduous, being dragged out in the ostentatious foyer of the manor. Tony had grabbed himself a glass of whiskey and no one had the heart to comment. Obie was making most of the pleasantries anyway, allowing Tony to escape to the family room.

He didn’t know many of the adults there, business partners and associates Howard had never allowed him to meet. He had always been insistent on Tony staying out of SI business until he was older and ‘more mature.’ The anger Tony harbored towards his father had sat cold and bitter in the pit of his stomach.

Ty and Whitney had shown up, but Tony could see how badly they hadn’t wanted to. His parents had just died and the two of them couldn’t even muster up the sympathy to stay for more than five minutes or even say a single heartfelt condolence. They were there because one was a fuck-buddy and the other had just assumed that's what _humans_ did. Tony always had thought that Whitney may just be no more than a tangle of ice and razor blades sewn up inside a person suit. 

Rhodey had been his only saving grace.

Tony left after only an hour, earning him a disapproving look from Jarvis as he slipped through the service door in the basement kitchen. Tony thought that was the worst year of his life, but looking back now there were a few contesters. That had been the summer he had met Rumiko, the memory brings a fond smile to his lips. He had thought he’d loved her once, the only real relationship he’s had before Pepper and then Steve.

Tony is fiddling with a pan and a stick of butter at the stove when Pepper comes stumbling into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. She comes up behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I’ve watched Jarvis do this a hundred times, you think I could figure it out,” he says.

Pepper snorts. “Only thing I’ve seen you successfully cook are frozen waffles. I applaud your efforts though.”

Tony smiles, feeling warm and comfortable in the mutual love between them. It feels like coming home when he is with Pepper. “Oh, and you’re a master chef?”

“I’ve managed to feed myself for thirty years,” she says. “Country girls don’t have personal cooks, we have to learn to fend for ourselves.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Sounds awful. How did you survive?”

“I’ll take you hunting sometime,” she says with a broad grin. Tony can't decide for the life of him if she is telling the truth or not.

“I’m mildly scared of you,” he says. The thought of Pepper with a gun is a bit terrifying.

She snorts and hip-checks him out of the way of the stove. “I’ll make breakfast,” she promises.

“You always make breakfast.”

“Making breakfast for the past two days hardly counts as _always,”_ she says. “But don’t expect this to become an _always._ I refuse to pamper you.”

“Pep, I’m wounded by what you’re insinuating.”

She grins wickedly and digs some pancake mix out of the cupboard.

 

* * *

 

The day is slow going, as all the days in Long Island are, and Tony feels ever would be. It is the lazy break that Tony needed. On that third morning, Tony debates whether he needs the diazepam but why change what’s working. He feels relaxed all the way to his bones and it feels good, feels really good. He has an energy inside of him that, before, he was afraid he was going to lose.

He doesn't have that fear now. He feels younger than he has in ages, as well -- whether that is due to the reprieve or to Pepper is up for debate.

The two of them are out on the dock, Pepper sitting along the edge with her feet dangling in the water. She is dressed in her bikini with a cover-up thrown over it and Tony thinks she looks absolutely breathtaking. It's that complicated feeling of _I want to sleep with this person_ mixed with _I admire this person and crave their attention to an alarming degree what the fuck is wrong with me!?!_ He figured out a few years back that that is love, but it doesn't make the emotions any less terrifying. In fact, it is slightly more confusing this time. How long are you supposed to wait to tell someone you love them when it is the second go-around? When is too soon? Is there a too soon? What are the rules here? He feels surprisingly out of his depth and it is both terrifying and exciting and maybe that makes it better. Something is stopping him from saying it though... something unsettled inside of him that still burns like a raw, untreated wound. Something that pulsates every time he hears a certain mobile phone vibrate inside its wooden cage.

“We should invite Peter out here sometime,” Pepper says languidly, jarring Tony from his thoughts. “May, too.”

“What?”

She turns to him, smiling brightly. “I said we should invite the Parkers.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, see, that’s where you lost me.”

She rolls her eyes. “C’mon Tony. You know you were thinking the same. He texted you earlier and you got this stupid pinched look that was suspiciously close to becoming a smile.”

Tony sighs, slumping in his lawn chair. “Okay, so I entertained the idea. The kid's grown on me," he confesses with a shrug.

“Two years ago he grew on you. At this point you’ve all but adopted him,” she says. She turns to face him properly, pulling his feet from the bay and folding them beneath herself. “He has his own room at the tower, he’s practically family.” She tilts her head in his direction. “He’s practically a Stark already.”

“Hey, hey, whoa. He’s a pain in my ass,” he says. Then he sighs. “Okay, so maybe I’ve grown attached or whatever-”

Pepper rolls her eyes.

  
“-and maybe I thought about flying him out here-”

“Ha!”

“-but I wasn’t going to do it!”

“Do it.” Her eyes narrow and pierce through him in a way that remind him of Natasha and Tony regrets that the two of them ever managed to get along. Any relationship between those two is bound to be a dangerous one. “And invite his friend too,” she adds, laying back on the dock, her eyes shutting against the sun. “That cute girl he’s always with.”

“Michelle.”

Pepper grins.

“I mean- I don’t know her name because I’m not in any way at all invested in the life of an obnoxious teenager.”

“I’m so convinced right now.”

Tony grunts and grabs for his finger of whiskey, taking a measured sip. He needs to pace himself, this is his only glass all week. “Fine, I’ll fly them all out one weekend, maybe let them use the place for the holidays. Although, I don’t know why you’re so eager to have a loud and energetic teenager interrupt our peace and quiet place.”

“Peace and quiet are overrated,” she says. “I give it two more days before you blow something up.”

Tony smirks and kind of hates that he can't argue the point.

 

* * *

 

On the morning of their fourth day, Tony gets a phone call. Usually, he will ignore it, as he’s done with the rest of his calls, but this is different. It's a call from the tower, patched through by FRIDAY who has explicit instructions to _not_ do so unless it is a Level 5 emergency. Tony feels a twinge of panic and answers the call, knowing it can only be from one person.

“Barnes?”

“Stark!” There is a measure of relief in Barnes’ voice that Tony can't decide how to feel about. “I’ve been asking your robot to get ahold of you for hours, what gives?”

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks.

Barnes sighs. “You’re kitchen drawer’s been buzzing,” he says. “So, I opened it. It’s Steve.”

“You didn’t answer it, did you?” Tony asks.

“No.”

“Good. The last thing I need is Rogers showing up at my house again, thinking I’ve kidnapped you or some other bullshit,” he says hotly. “That’s my head on a stake, that’s what that leads to.”

“Again?” James asks. “Implying he’s done it before.”

“Yeah and I don’t care to relive it.”

“Well,” he sniffs. “I’m tempted to make a snide comment about a man that’s terrible at stealth sneaking past your invisible security lady that speaks from the ceiling. It’s been almost three weeks I’ve been missing, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried it.”

“I upped security measures,” Tony says. “I do learn from my mistakes, I’m good like that. Genius, remember? No supersoldiers are breaking into my tower ever again. Or FRIDAY will zap his star-spangled ass.” He sighs. “While I’ve got you on the line, how do you feel? Still sane? Still good?”

“I feel fine, Stark,” he says dryly. “Your continued concern for my mental state is heartwarming.”

“I’m sure.” Tony paces the kitchen, spotting Pepper out on the patio. He smiles warmly at the sight of her. “Just sit tight, try not to go stir crazy. I’ll be back in a day or two and we can contact Rogers. He’s going to find out you’re in New York eventually and when he does it’s going to be on my terms.”

James hums. “I am gettin’ a little antsy,” he admits. “I don’t like lying to him, you know.”

Tony has noticed how the more comfortable Barnes becomes in the Tower, the more comfortable he becomes in his own skin, the more his old accent slips. Tony doesn't know what dug that little relic from his wiped headspace, but there it is. “Yeah, yeah.” Tony waves his hand dismissively. “I’m sure lying is such a stain on your shiny clean conscience.”

“Shut up, Stark.”

Tony snorts and hangs up. There is a spark of anger inside of him though, something that takes root and latches onto his ribcage. Someone really needs to teach Rogers a lesson about timing. He really wants to sock the guy in the nose sometimes. Even if it will break his own hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a filler, but I hope it didn't suck too bad. Next chapter will be far more exciting.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the chapter with the dialogue that inspired this story from the beginning.

Tony calls Rogers and invites him to the tower to talk, tells him it’s about Barnes. Come alone or deal’s off, he says. And he plans on sticking to it, he’s a man of his word after all and he doesn’t plan on deviating because of Steven Grant Rogers -- damn the man. Tony is prepared for an entire ordeal. FRIDAY is on high alert, but it doesn’t soothe his nerves. He’s anxious, feels it in the pit of his stomach and in the pressure on his chest, the slight ringing in his ears. He hates it. He doesn’t have a solution though so he powers through it just like he always has.

Having the distinction between Rogers breaking in and having been invited doesn’t seem to make much of a difference either; doesn’t quell Tony’s nerves in any way. So he toys with whether or not to pour himself a drink, ultimately decides against it, and forces himself to take a seat. It doesn’t help. Barnes looks at him from across the room like he’s grown a second head and Tony shifts uncomfortably where he’s sat. He’s tired and ill-prepared but he’s done what he can.

“What time did he say?” Barnes asks for what feels like the fifth time.

Tony shakes his head. “Around three,” he says. “Who knows. But if he doesn’t use the front door this time I’m gonna blast him with the suit before he can finish crawling through a window.”

James snorts.

Tony leaps to his feet. He needs to pace, he needs to move. “If he’s smart he’ll hurry it up though before I change my mind,” he says. Just to say _something._ The TV is off and the family room is starkly silent and he hates it all so much, it drives a shiver up his spine.

Tony doesn't fear Rogers, he doesn't even think he hates him. He doesn't think he knows how to hate him. He has spent more time…  _after_ hating _himself_ for allowing things to happen the way that they did. He doesn't regret his decisions, his stance on the Accords, he takes none of that back. Still, there is a sense of regret -- whether it is for himself or for Rogers and the others is still up in the air. Maybe he just regrets that any of it ever had to happen.

Tony doesn't fear Rogers, but the unease still remains.

It is just after three-thirty in the afternoon when FRIDAY announces that Rogers has arrived, waiting in the lobby.

Tony goes down alone, figuring it is best to lay the news on gently, and not just spring Barnes’s presence on him. Tony knows how to be subtle, despite Pepper’s opinion. Rogers is standing alone, as he had promised, dressed in khakis and a too tight white t-shirt that once had the power to make Tony’s knees weak. He stands with his arms hanging loosely at his sides, looking around the nearly empty lobby. The few employees that are in sight sit or stand frozen in place, eyes wide. It is as though time has frozen around them and Tony thinks he would be able to hear a pin drop in the silence.

“You remodeled,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

Tony rolls his eyes. “And you’re standing in the middle of a public building looking like,” he gestures at Rogers, _“that._ Way to blend in.”

Rogers has the humility to look abashed, ducking his head to hide a smile. “Sorry to make your job harder.”

“Not sure how I’m going to explain why there’s a wanted fugitive in my lobby. Probably gonna have to up their pay. Bribery always works,” he drawls. “Let’s get you out of the open before someone calls the police.” Tony leads him to the service elevator, taking him up to his private floor. Pepper is at work, doing CEO things, so the coast is clear. Tony risks a glance at the Captain as the elevator comes to a halt and the two of them step out.

“Looks different in here too,” he says.

“It was time for a change,” Tony says. He notices Steve frowning at the wall of candid photos that Pepper has taken and Tony has framed as a gift -- well, he paid for the frames. “Pepper’s doing,” he says. “She has an eye for interior design.”

He nods.

“She got a new camera and went a little overboard. Zero self-control on that one.”

“I didn’t know she was a photographer.”

Tony moves to the kitchen and finally caves, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. Rogers waits in the den, wringing his hands. “So,” Tony begins. “I figured this would be a conversation better had in person,” he says.

Rogers quirks a brow. “You said it was about Bucky,” he says. Tony can see his patience thinning. “He’s been missing five weeks, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “About that. He’s- well, he’s kinda been… here?”  
Tony doesn't know what reaction he has been expecting from the man, a punch to the face is honestly pretty up there, but Steve just stands there. Probable doubt is etched across his face. He is silent, weary. “You…” He releases a breath. “You mean that- let me get this straight, Tony,” he says slowly and Tony takes a small step back. “You mean you’ve been keeping him here… this whole time? And you lied to me about it?”

Tony feels his blood go cold, he feels like ice water has been poured down his spine. Steve looks… angry. He looks furious, and not on Barnes’ behalf this time, but _at_ Tony. Solely at Tony.

He feels anger clawing up his throat. “You’re mad at me _lying_ to you? We’re not in a relationship, Rogers,” he says, “of _any_ kind. If I wanna lie to you, I very damn will.” He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair and rubbing a thumb across his forehead. “Christ, what the fuck happened? You used to look at me like I offered you the whole world and now you can’t even be around me without thinking up some way I’ve _wronged_ you.”

“Stark-”

“Rogers! Would you just shut the fuck up? For five minutes, Steve, just _shut up.”_

Steve looks like he’s been struck and good, god damn it.

“I did this _for_ James, and you somehow find a way to be pissed at me about it?” he asks. “I don’t know what you want from me, Rogers, but I’m sorry to disappoint, for fuck’s sake!”

“Did what?”

“I swear, you’re impossible to please!”

“Tony, did _what?”_

“What?”

  
“You did what for Bucky?” he reiterates.

“Erased the Winter Soldier,” he says plainly, too caught up in his frustrations.

Steve looks like someone has just sucker punched him in the gut. His face pales and his voice, when he speaks, is so low and breathless Tony can't be certain he has spoken at all. “You erased the Winter Soldier?”

Tony nods. “James Barnes is a free man. Well, mentally. Legally he’s SHIELD’s most wanted.”

“Oh my god. Where is he?” he asks. There's an urgency seeping into his voice that poses a threat to any who dare stand in the way between him and Barnes.

“Upstairs,” Tony says, “extra room below the common floor.” He's trusting Steve knows the way. He used to live here once, he should know the way.

 

* * *

 

When Tony finally forces his feet to move, one before the other, and wanders up the stairs, he finds the two super soldiers on the balcony. He takes the stairs to give them more time and himself an enclosed space to have his minor panic attacks. More than anything, he wants someplace Steve hasn't been, someplace quiet where he can take a beat. The stairwell seems like a place no one will look. He walks up the stairs in silence.

Barnes stands an arm’s length away from Steve, his back is straight and a fierce determination is in his stance that Tony has become quite accustomed to. He is like a cat in that way, always raising his hackles to look bigger or some other nonsense. Tony has learned fast it is nothing more than that: a defensive move and completely harmless. Rogers, on the other hand, stands slightly slouched, his shoulders droop in that kicked puppy way that makes him look younger.

There is a record playing, the vocals of James Taylor wafting through the loft. Tony had bought the player and all the vinyl for the kid when he’d mentioned an interest in music. He had even purchased a guitar and keyboard for him, ignoring his protests that he can't play. Tony is hoping it will be therapeutic.

There are books left astray on the ottoman, splayed out before an already lived-in looking couch despite Barnes having only been around for a hardly more than a month. A few books lay scattered haphazardly across the hardwood. The whole scene looks as though Barnes had been comfortably reading something by Stephen King and catching up on the greater discography of the sixties when Rogers came storming in.

A shout and a crash draw Tony’s attention back to the balcony. Barnes has thrown whatever book he had been holding against the glass pane of the door. Roger’s looks startled and a little unsettled. He has clearly upset James, which from the look of it, Rogers isn't too accustomed to.

“You don’t control me, Steve!” He hears Barnes shout.

“I don’t want to control you!” Rogers shoots back. “I just want what’s best for you!”

“What you think is best, isn’t always best,” he replies. “You have to let people make their own decisions, Steve. You can’t keep people on a leash because you’re afraid.” His shouts are muffled by the glass, but it isn't hard to decipher.

“I’m not-!”

Barnes sighs and pulls the sliding door open roughly, storming inside. He stops short when he sees Tony, a sharp frown distorts his young features. He growls, low and under his breath, with frustration. His fists clench and unclench.

“Steve,” Barnes says with a heavy sigh. He runs a hand through his hair musing the loose ponytail it has been pulled back in. “Tony called you because I wanted you to know where I was. I didn’t want you to worry. And Tony,” he says, gesturing wanly at the billionaire, “Tony wanted to call you because he thought that if he didn’t you’d hunt him down like a dog.”

Steve looks between the two of them. He looks sad.

“Steve, I know we were friends, in another life, we _are_ friends still. You came after me, you looked for me, you saved my damn life, but… Steve, look, I’m not going back with you.”

“What?”

“I’m not going back to Wakanda.”

“Buck, you can’t stay _here,”_ Steve argues. “You can’t- you’re a wanted fugitive.”

“With SHIELD,” he says.

Steve frowns. “What?” He shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “That’s exactly my point.”

“You’re not listening,” Barnes says. “I’m a wanted fugitive with SHIELD, not the mass public. No one will recognize me here.” He looks at Tony. “You wanna step in here?” he asks a little desperately.

Tony startles at being addressed. He shifts, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He is uncomfortable under the scrutiny of two super soldiers. “Uh, yeah. Barnes is enemy numero uno on SHIELD’s radar, but I can take care of that. I do still have some pull with what remains of SHIELD,” he says. He is kind of next in line for director, bizarrely enough. “It’s Hydra we have to look out for and I wouldn’t be too worried about them. I can handle them. He’s safe here,” he finishes confidently. He nods to himself. “I can look after him, Steve. Not that he needs it.”

They both hold their breaths as they wait for Steve to speak, waiting for a response of any kind. Anything. Tony swallows thickly. It comes as a relief when the super soldier eventually nods, if somewhat reluctantly.

“Fine.” He sounds so broken in a way Tony doesn't understand. Probably never would if he tried. He looks at Tony then, with wide blue eyes. “Tony, can we- can we talk? Just…” he shakes his head. “Since I’m here?”

Tony frowns, but he nods all the same. “Fine, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Tony leads Rogers out of Barnes’ floor, offering the man a nod over his shoulder. They end up on the common floor, and Tony finds himself unconsciously squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. He feels defensive and it isn't fair, Rogers has given him no reason to feel threatened, but there it is. Always prepared for the worse it seems.

“What do you want, Steve?” he asks bluntly, feeling suddenly exhausted and drained.

The man looks lost, his eyes focusing on everything other than Tony. “I don’t know,” he says softly, hardly above a whisper. “I don’t know, Tony. There’s so much I wanna say; that I want to ask.”

“Ask away,” Tony says.

“I guess I just don’t understand why you’d help him.”

“Does it matter?”

_“Tony-”_

“No- no, Steve. I don’t know what you want from me, but you’re not going to find it. Don’t think I’m not still royally pissed at you,” he says sharply. Feeling that cold anger he has harbored so long begin to crawl up his throat like icy pinpricks. “You made a decision, and you left me! You chose _him!”_

“It wasn’t like that, Tony, and you know it!” Steve shoots back.

“Do I!?”

“It wasn't about you, it was about doing the right thing!”

“And who decides what’s right?” Tony asks scathingly. _“You?”_

“Yes,” he says confidently. “I trust my conscience.”

“That doesn’t make you a hero, that makes you a dictator! Everyone trusts their conscience, Rogers. That doesn’t magically make you right or any more objective than anyone else.” Tony sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping and a weight sliding off of them. The anger, once freed, fizzles and dies. He isn't angry, not truly, he is just exhausted. Tired of this game; this back and forth, the phone calls, the wondering. It has grown old on him. He has grown out of those shoes, he doesn't want to be that man anymore. He doesn't want to find, one day, that he has grown old in the space between that and this. He wants his life back.

Tony extracts The Phone from his pocket and holds it’s weight in the palm of his hand. He sighs, before looking Steve in the eyes. “I'll always love you,” he says truthfully, “some part of me. But I can't trust you. And I'm not in love with you anymore. I need to let you go. I don't want to think about you anymore.” He takes Steve’s hand in his and places the mobile phone in his palm, folding his fingers around the device. “Take this.”

Rogers is frowning and it sends a sharp pain of something through Tony’s chest. He means what he has said, he will always care about Steve, in some capacity, about all of them. But that hardly matters anymore.

“Tony, I-” the soldier shakes his head. “I’m so sorry things played out this way.”

“I know,” Tony says softly. “I'm sorry too. Now, go say something supportive to Barnes, because I don’t know when you’ll see him again,” he said. “He wants to stay, for now, and you can’t stop him.”

Steve swallows and says softly, “I know.” He frowns at the carpet, or at his shoes, what does it matter? Tony doesn't take any pleasure in his being troubled and pensive, or frustrated; hurt. He has never meant to inflict pain on Steve, not really. He’s reveled in the other man’s pain for awhile, but he has been hurt at the time as well. Now it all feels immature and petty. The anger has run its course. Tony just wants to move on.

Steve looks at Tony with no small degree of sadness. “I don’t know how to let him go,” he says softly. “I just got him back, Tony- I don’t… I can’t lose him.”

Tony sighs. “You’re not losing him, Steve. He’ll come back. He does care about you, quite a lot. I don’t think you could keep him away for good if you tried.”

Steve nods and purses his lips, looking slightly eased by that. “Thank you, Tony.” Carefully, so very gently, he plants a chaste kiss on the crown of Tony's head.

“Don’t mention it," he breathes, but Steve has already gone.

Tony sighs, feeling his knees lock, and he falls into the sofa behind him. He releases a breath and drops his head between his knees. He didn't think it would be this hard, seeing Steve again, finally letting him go. He can't help but mourn what he has lost. _“Goddamnit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late, school started back up. Yeay!
> 
> So for anyone still reading, thoughts? 
> 
> I think we're heading to a close here. Probably three or so more chapters then an epilogue perhaps. I hope ya'll liked this. Peter will return shortly and we'll see how well Buck takes to assimilating to 21st century society.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve stays the night. He is a wanted fugitive after all, with nowhere else to be when Tony receives a call from Natasha telling him she and Barton won't be back in the states until tomorrow to pick up the super soldier. A freak snowstorm is keeping them from crossing the border from Canada. It seems like just yesterday they were driving upstate with Autumn leaves just beginning to molt, yet winter in New York seems to have come all at once, and in this case, it is keeping one fugitive superhero stuck under Tony’s roof for one more night.

He stays on Barnes’ floor, in the spare room. It is nearing sunset that evening when he reemerges, tracking Tony to his workshop. Tony figures he should really work on being less predictable. 

The mechanic is elbow deep in suit repairs and modifications when Rogers comes-a-knocking. He stands there, innocently peering through the glass with two steaming mugs. He smiles brightly when Tony looks up.

Tony sighs and pries his safety goggles from his eyes. “Let him in, Fri.”

The doors open obediently and the blonde smiles, holding up a mug. “I brought tea.”

“Ewe, why?” Tony was really hoping for coffee.

“It’s late, Tony. You don’t need caffeine.”

There is something terribly familiar about this situation, so much so that Tony is momentarily struck speechless. Steve Rogers is bringing him a late night drink, dressed down in sweats, his hair damp from a shower. He accepts the mug from Steve with deaf movements and forces a, “thanks,” out of himself.

“Don’t mention it.”

Tony takes a tentative sip. It doesn't taste poisoned, but then again, Steve isn't the silent killer type, is he? “What can I do ya for, Cap?” he asks. He forces a tight-lipped smile.

Steve shrugs, leaning against Tony’s desk. “I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I ah,” he swallows, “I forgot to apologize, earlier, authentically.”

Tony’s fingers freeze over his keyboard, hovering in the middle space. He leans back in his chair slowly and levels Rogers a cautious look. “Go on,” he says.

Steve swallows. “Yeah. I know,” he says, “I know. I was a little caught up in the moment, okay? I’ve been worried about Bucky, can you blame me?”

Tony steeples his fingers. “S’pose not.”

“I don’t want you to think that I hate you, Tony. I don’t,” he says.

Tony believes him.

“I don’t think I ever could. What I did was out of line. I was trying to protect Bucky and that’s no excuse. I am sorry, Tony.”

“I know,” he says. “I meant what I said, though. Tomorrow morning, when the storm clears, you’re leaving. And… and I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to hear from you,” he says. “I care about you Steve, and maybe some days I’ll regret this decision, but we need to go our separate ways. I need to let you go. I wanna be happy and Pepper makes me happy. And Peter, he's... A clean break is what’s best, I think. If I don’t cut you loose now, I will hate you, eventually.” He swallows thickly, feeling the truth of his words weigh heavy on his tongue like lead. “I don’t want that.”

Steve nods, though Tony thinks he looks sad, but he doesn't understand why. He had thought, once, that he knows Steve in and out. Knows his motives and how every cog in his mind turns. All of that had been thrown into question, though. “I understand, Tony. I hope you and Pepper stay happy. I always thought she was better for you,” he says with a somewhat bitter laugh. “I used to be a little jealous of her, you know? You two fit together.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Tony wants to cry, to scream, to throw something even, or he thinks he should want to. This is his moment, his chance to say everything to him that he hadn’t the chance to before. They don't exactly get a normal breakup. They don't get their big blowout verbal sparring match or any of that normal relationship shit you see in the films. All that doesn't didn’t feel appropriate anymore though. Tony doesn't think he has the energy for all the theatrics anyhow.

Steve offers him a smile, it is simple and reaches his blue, blue eyes. It is the most honest expression Tony has seen across his face in years. “Who knows, maybe some crazy alien high on glory will invade Earth and we’ll be forced to team up. For the greater good.”

Tony snorts. “With our luck?”

“It wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve heard of," he says. Before Tony can think of a witty and genius reply, Steve bends down and plants a gentle kiss on the crown of Tony’s head. His hand rests on Tony’s hair and thumb just brushes his ear. His lips are soft and warm and Tony’s eyes flutter shut at the contact. It is a bittersweet victory, exorcising his home of the ghost of this man he has loved for so long.

“Goodnight, Tony,” he says gently. Tony hears a million farewells in those two simple words. There is a chasm of goodbyes and a lifetime of things left unsaid between them. 

By the time Tony opens his eyes, he is alone, with just his bots and the mechanical whirl of FRIDAYS’s servers.

 

* * *

 

Crawling into bed that night comes as a sort of relief that Tony is unaccustomed to. It's like a glove that doesn't fit quite right, but the extra space is comfortable all the same; breathing room for adjustability, compromise, and exploration. It isn't a perfect metaphor, but Tony feels it apt. There is a level of security that floods Tony as he wiggles in beside Pepper, doing his best not wake her. He feels eased. He has said his piece to Steve, and with that, he feels a renewed sense of certainty in his relationship with Pepper.

Now that one now has a proper ending, a burial, the other can properly begin.

Tony is excited to watch it begin again.

“I love you,” he announces strongly into the silent room. He feels a confidence blossom in his chest as he speaks to the sleeping woman beside him. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. I just realized this a moment ago, so I’m a little shaky on the delivery but you’re asleep anyhow so I think it’s excusable. And maybe I’m a little scared but I’d never admit that if you were conscious. I could spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, “right here. In fact, I _want_ to. I want to do just that. I have never been more certain about anything in my life. So this, right now, is me promising to do just that. And no stupid alien invasion or international terrorist is going to stop me because I’m Iron Man and I’m Tony Stark and I always get what I want.” He lets out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding, feeling himself sink further into the mattress.

"That was beautiful, Boss," FRIDAY chimes in his earpiece.

Tony snorts and pulls the earpiece out, tossing it on the floor. He rolls over in bed, wrapping himself around Pepper and holding the redhead close. He buries his face in her hair.

Maybe in the morning, he will say all this to Pepper’s face. Or maybe he will bury it deep, deep down and never mention it again. Really, only tomorrow can tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's incredibly short, but I wanted to wrap up the goodbye. I thought short and sweet would get it across nicer than any arduous lengthy piece. So I hope you all liked this. I was in physical pain writing it, thanks!
> 
> Next chapter: Peter! He's back, y'all! Finally, I mean jfc.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve leaves and things begin returning to some semblance of normal. Tony doesn't see Steve out, deciding to leave things the way they had the night before. He likes that ending, it is easy and holds Steve in the light he wants to remember him in. Not in anger or in some stiff handshaking formal goodbye. Tony isn't any good at those.

With Steve gone and Barnes more or less firmly settled into Stark Tower for the foreseeable future, things become… routine, almost. Tony has become quite good at adapting. Adapting to “oh, this is my life now!” It had started with Afghanistan and retook different shapes with every curveball. With the Avengers, with Pepper, with Steve, with Peter, and again with… James (he is still getting used to that).

Barnes -- James, _whatever!_ \-- keeps to his habit of being first to rise, sitting in the common floor family room watching the morning news. Tony isn't even sure why he uses the common floor anymore, out of habit perhaps. Pepper insists it has the best kitchen but in his opinion, his own floor is all around superior.

Finding the super soldier wandering around the tower in the early morning hours isn't entirely uncommon either.

Some mornings he will find him outside Tony’s lab as the mechanic works till sunrise. This has turned into Tony noticing the guy passed out on the couch in the lab. He doesn’t even see him enter the first few times, only noticing his presence after what FRIDAY says is at least a few hours. Tony has frowned and asks how he had gotten in. FRIDAY, apparently, trusts the assassin enough to grant him access.

It is maybe a week after Steve when Tony asks about the arm.

“What about it?”

Tony shrugs. “No need to take offense, twinkle toes, I just meant it’s gotta be a little outdated. Hydra scraped the thing together, so it’s not exactly top notch tech if you know what I mean?”

James shakes his head.

“I’m a genius, sunshine, and you’ve seen the suit. There’s not a chance in hell that I can’t whip you up something a thousand times better. Just let me take a look at it. And we can get rid of the obnoxious star while we’re at it.”

“I like the star.”

Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “The star can stay. Just let me tinker with it a little. I’ll have you a state of the art biomechanical prosthetic replacement by the end of the week. Pinky promise.”

James cocks his head, his dark eyes taking on that calculating narrowness that Tony has come to associate with a predator. He tends to forget that just because Barnes is a free man, he is still scary as hell and more than capable of tearing Tony in half, probably.

“Okay,” he finally says.

“Really?” Tony asks. “That wasn’t so hard. Kinda thought you’d fight me on this longer.”

“The socket has felt out of alignment.”

“What? For how long?” Tony asks rapidly. “And you didn’t say anything?”

He shrugs carelessly. “I didn’t trust you,” he admits. “Which only seems fair, seeing as you didn’t trust me either.”

“Hey, I still don’t entirely believe you won't stab me in my sleep.”

James only grins wickedly and a chill shoots down Tony’s spine at the thought that he and Romanov should ever meet. He will have nightmares for days at the prospect alone.

A… _companionship_ between Tony and Barnes is surprisingly easy coming. They get on, despite Tony’s more obnoxious tendencies and Barnes’ own more violent ones. He takes to spending near as much time in the gym and old sparring rooms as Tony does in his labs. Tony doesn't know exactly what he does in there. The one time he has FRIDAY pull up the security footage it has only been forty-five minutes of Barnes slaughtering punching bags. He goes through more sandbags than Steve ever had.

Peter is wrapping up his semester at high school and Tony is a little taken off guard by the passage of time. It just hits sometimes, those sorts of things. Christmas is around the corner and Tony is already feeling the anxiety of getting something for Pepper that isn’t obnoxious and impractical. He is coming up blank. Anyhow, Peter is scheduled to come by, Tony has promised he can crash at the tower for a few nights, he does have his own room and all, though it is scarcely used during the school year. The kid only really stays overnight on some weekends (which has Tony feeling like he’s lost a custody battle) and if the two of them are working on something in the labs -- usually suit upgrades or a project for Peter’s science classes, or (much to Tony’s glee) simply satisfying Parker’s curiosity and new found aspirations in tech.

Peter is coming by and Tony has yet to warn him of the super soldier living on the twenty-second floor. Which is admittedly a huge oversight on his part.

Tony is in the labs when Parker arrives, too engrossed in finishing aligning Barnes’ new and improved prosthetic to hear FRIDAY’s announcement. He is entirely unaware of the raised eyebrow Barnes is sending him as the AI goes ignored.

Tony is having Barnes move his fingers experimentally. “Everything feeling alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” the other man grunts.

Tony sighs. “I need some solid confirmation here, Twinkle Toes. Nothing feels stiff or lagging? It’s not over-sensitive, is it?”

James huffs in amusement. “No, Tony. It feels great actually.” He lifts his arm, clenching his fingers repeatedly and bending the elbow. “It feels better than the old one ever had.”

“Yeah, I don’t think comfort was exactly Hydra’s prime concern.”

James shakes his head. “Why would they care that a weapon was _uncomfortable,”_ he says. “This feels nice,” he tells Tony. “It’s smoother; a lot less stiff.”

“Feel as good as righty over there?” he asks.

James nods. “Who’s Parker?” he asks.

“What?”

“Mr. Parker,” he repeats, mocking FRIDAY's tone. “You’re computer said he was here.”

Tony frowns. “What? When?”

  
He shrugs his flesh and bone arm. “A minute ago. She asked if she should send him down and you just grunted. I think she took that as a yes.”

Tony leaps to his feet, muttering curses under his breath.

James quirks a brow.

Tony quickly winds up a coil of wires and tosses a handful of tools in a drawer, frantically clearing the worktop just to give his hands something to do. “I may have one-hundred percent definitely forgot to tell him you were here,” he says.

“So?”

“So the last time he saw you, you were trying to kick my ass and his.”

“What?” James frowns. “Who is it? I’ve punched lots of people.”

“Remember spidey boy?”

Understanding dawns on Barnes’ face and he frowns sharply at the tabletop in that familiar way that always puts Tony a little on edge. You can never tell what he is upset about, just that he is, and it is a tad disconcerting.

Tony sucks on his teeth. “Just, sit there and try not to look menacing.”

James looks up at him, baffled. “How? Have you met me?”

“I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure.” Tony eyes him closely. “Well, maybe put your shirt back on at least, you look less imposing with it on. Just- just sit there, quietly. Okay? Maybe he won’t recognize you. It’s been a few years.”

As if on queue, there is a sliding of glass doors and Tony winces as he turns to greet the teen. His arms are out wide and there is a cartoonishly large grin on his lips. “Hey, Peter! Buddy!”

“That’s James Barnes, isn’t it?”

“Sonofabitch.” His arms drop limply.

Peter eyes Tony, his brow quirks as he analyzes the room. His eyes flash between the two men. “What’s going on?” he asks slowly, words measured carefully to keep them devoid of inflection. Tony kinda hates that the kid knows that trick, it is his own after all; Stark patented.

“Everything’s fine,” Tony assures him. It sounds fake even to his own ears. “Just hooking Sunshine over here up with his new and improved prosthetic,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

Peter looks intrigued. “You made him a new arm?” He walks over the Barnes and the workbench, sitting beside him, but keeps a good few feet between them. Barnes’ eyes widen just slightly. “You can feel everything with it?” he asks the super soldier.

James nods. “Yes.”

Peter meets the assassin’s eyes and James is taken aback to find there isn't an ounce of fear there. Maybe the kid doesn't know enough about fear to be scared of him. Either way, he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “That’s awesome. Tony,” he says, head whipping around eagerly, “you should totally patent this. You could start a whole line of Stark prosthetics. This is amazing.” He prods James’ fingers curiously and the super soldier twitches, more in surprise than annoyance. No one has ever really touched him, disregarding Tony while he attached the thing, it is a foreign sensation.

Tony claps his hands loudly, startling James. “Alrighty. Everything feels good?” he asks James one last time.

He nods. “Yes, Stark, for the last time.”

Tony raises his hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll back off. Pete, you here all weekend?”

The kid nods. “Yeah, Aunt May said it was cool. Is Pepper here?” he asks.

“She’ll be back around three,” he answers deftly. He knows Pepper’s schedule like the back of his hand. Odd, how that had flipped.

Peter nods. He and Pep got on too well if you asked Tony. They went on for hours last time about photography mumbo that Tony couldn’t even pretend to follow. Was that what Pepper felt like whenever Bruce was in town?

 

* * *

 

Come morning Tony is feeling unusually optimistic. He isn't optimistic by nature, but he is in a good mood. “What do you say we get you out on the street?” Tony asks a not entirely awake James Barnes.

The man pauses, spoon of Lucky Charms pausing half way to his lips. “You think that’s a good idea?” he asks slowly.

Tony shrugs. “What could go wrong?”

James sets his spoon down. “I think multiple wars have started because of that sentiment.”

“That’s a little harsh. I don’t think you’re gonna kick off the next Cuban Missile Crisis by taking a stroll through New York City,” Tony says. “We’ve already established no one’s going to recognize you. It’s totally safe.”

James seems unconvinced.

Tony pats the countertop. “I’ll let you think on it.”

 

* * *

It doesn't take too long for James to come to a decision. It is that same afternoon that he comes to Tony with his answer. “I’d like to go outside,” he says, his chin raised. He looks defiant and Tony can see through the strong front he is putting up like it were glass. He is frightened, not of the world, but of what he is capable of inflicting upon it. Who could blame him? Tony has been there, but staying locked up is never the solution, just the easier way. He and Barnes are cut from the same cloth, and Tony knows he will never be one to take the easy road.

“Alright,” Tony says. “Let me grab my coat.”

The city is alive in the late afternoon. Winter holiday decor already litters every shopping district and city center. Snowflake street poles and garland in windows. It has snowed the night before, the snow now sludgy and filthy but that is just New York’s charm.

They keep it simple for Barnes’ first twenty-first-century exploration as a free man. Tony figures the coffee shop not too far from the tower was safe enough, Tony knows most of the staff by name and the coffee is the best in the city. They sit in a window seat and sip their drinks. It's nice. They talk, about nothing really. Barnes asks if he celebrates Christmas and looks unsurprised by the, “no, but Pepper does,” that he get as his reply.

Tony keeps the conversation going, as he is quite apt to do. He is very good at rambling about nothing in as many words as he can. It is a skill.

It is an okay day, all things considered.

“We should get you an ID, a social security number,” Tony lists. “I’ll put it in with Fury, he can whip all that up. I don’t have access to those sorts of databases, not that I can’t finagle my way in or anything. I just don’t have that kind of time on my hands,” he says. “And I’m not sure how I’d talk my way out of that one. Even I have limits. Legally, not physically. My lawyers are fantastic, but I can't afford that kind of shit publicity.”

“What do I need an ID for?” Barnes asks, sipping his iced latte through a bright green straw. Who drinks iced coffee in December?

Tony shrugs. “Pepper brought it up,” he says. “It’s not a bad idea. You’ll need one o’ those and an SSN to do just about anything these days. Welcome to the age of technology, baby,” he says brightly. “Even I, the forbearer of modern tech, can admit it has its downfalls.”

James scoffs and Tony frowns.

“What?”

James shakes his head. “Nothing, just… You say modern tech, I say disappointment.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember thinking there would be flying cars by now,” he says.

Tony balks. “Are you- that’s exactly what Steve said! You super soldiers are impossible to please, for fuck’s sake.” Tony scoffs in disbelief and runs a hand through his hair, it is windblown and refuses to stay where it belongs.

James laughs, that deep rumbling thing that colors his cheeks and brightens his eyes. Sometimes Tony is struck by how young the kid is, this is one of those moments. Tony kind of hates how fond of the guy he has become these past few weeks. 

“Shut up, Twinkle Toes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of y'all enjoying the blooming unlikely friendship between Tony and Barnes that even I hadn't planned. It just HAPPENED. 
> 
> This'll be wrapping up soonish. I hope y'all are still enjoying this. Love you guys.


	17. Chapter 17

Spring on Long Island is just as nice as Autumn had been, only warm and relaxing and bit more full of life. From the boats that dot the bay to the insects and birds that chirp ambitiously in the trees. Tony sits out on the lawn at poolside, sunglasses over his eyes and a drink at his elbow. The quiet calm of bay is lazy and undemanding and-

“Tony!”

The billionaire jolts, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

There is a loud splash followed by two teenagers laughing, and a spray of pool water hits Tony’s pant leg. He frowns at the dark splotch on the fabric.

“Tony!” Peter looks up at him with bright eyes, his elbows supporting him along the rim of the pool. “Can we take the boat out?” he asks. “MJ and I were wondering,” he adds innocently. The girl grins wildly, not an innocent bone in her body. Tony likes her.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony says. “Just, stop splashing me.”

“If you don’t want to get wet, why are you sitting by the pool?” Michelle asks. “Also, do you even own a swimsuit?”

“Yes, I _own_ a swimsuit.”

“I think you just like complaining,” she quips.

Tony changes his mind, he doesn’t like her anymore. He narrows his eyes at her. What is with redheads (whether god intended or not) ruining his peace and quiet?

A soft hand cards through his already wind tousled hair startes a smile out of him. Okay, maybe not _all_ redheads.

“I think you might be onto something there,” Pepper says to Michelle. She takes a seat beside Tony. She smiles at him and crosses her legs in that beautiful sun dress of hers and Tony silently thanks the heavens for the unusually warm spring.

“Don't take her side,” he says indignantly.

“I didn't realize we were taking sides,” she says.

Tony rolls his eyes. “There’s always sides, and I need at least one redhead on mine.”

“What?”

Tony grunts. “Kids wanna take the boat out.”

“Which boat? The boat-boat, or the yacht-boat? Because I think we have different definitions of _boat,”_ she says.  

“The yacht!” Michelle shouts, before diving beneath the water and missing the look Tony shoots her. When she resurfaces she is grinning wickedly, damp red dyed hair covering her face. Peter laughs and Tony knows the kid has already fallen head-over-heels. He does a piss poor job of hiding it.

“The yacht it is then,” Pepper decides. “We could do lunch,” she says, “out on the water.”

“We can do whatever you want,” he says wistfully. Okay, maybe Peter's not the only one. 

“I can wear the sandals you bought me for Christmas,” she says.

“Oh, did I get you sandals?”

“You did.”

Tony grins.

 

* * *

 

 They spens the afternoon on the yacht, much to Peter and Michelle's glee. Dinner is taken when they return, just on the cusp of nightfall. Tony tries to help but Peter and Pepper insist the two of them can handle it and if he really wants to help then he can toss the salad. Tony resents that but takes up the salad tongues all the same. He shoots Michelle a glare as she grins and finishes setting the table. It is all very domestic and Tony thinks it might be giving him a rash. 

They used to do something like this back at the tower when the whole team had been staying there. Clint or Steve would usually cook. There was one time that Natasha had tried preparing some Russian dish but they had all agreed a repeat offense was avoidable by all measures. She hadn't taken it well and they all ate the botched dish out of fear.

James spends the day lingering around the manor like a ghost, Tony would only just catch a glimpse of his back as he rounded a corner, exiting the room whenever Tony entered.

It is when dinner is finished being prepared and James is still nowhere to be seen that Tony kisses Pepper on her forehead, still in her sundress and a designer rain jacket that costs as much as a small apartment, and goes on the Great James Barnes Hunt of the Decade. He checks the living room, the library, the back patio, the second floor common space, the second floor balcony, the secret door in the wall of the stairwell. He is nowhere.

“Did Spooky run away?” Michelle asks cheekily. Her face is stuffed with baked chicken. Peter's eyes dance between the two of them as he eats his own dinner. 

Tony narrows her eyes. “No, he didn't _run away._  He’s just… exploring.”

"Did you look outside?" Peter asks. "I saw him go out after we got back from the boat."

Tony frowns. He had checked outside. He wasn't on the back porch, and he had a clear shot from the house to the waterline and he was still unseen. He had looked everywhere except… well, the front yard, but why would he…? Tony shakes his head. He supposes there was one place left that he could be hiding.

Tony slips out the side door by the garage and walks across the front drive. It had rained a little while they were out on the yacht and the red brick of the driveway glistens with rainwater. Just off the side of the circle drive is an overgrown path that disappears into the tree line. There are old stones that Tony remembers from his childhood, now cracked and split from age and weather. Tony feels the smallest of smiles tug at his cheeks as he treks through the damp underbrush and fallen sticks that are too wet to snap properly under his shoes. The moisture highlights the greenery and gives everything a sense of eery calm. It makes sense that Barnes would be attracted to the spot.

It is an old gazebo that sits in what was once his mother’s garden, now overgrown by flora and vines and lilac that had taken over the spot. The trees reach the little structure and almost cocoon it in the protection of their wooden limbs. Like soldiers.

He has all but forgotten the place existed and hadn’t told the crew he had sent out to refurbish the place of it. It has been left to continue its wild growth and now looks like something straight out of _the Secret Garden._

“You know, I used to hide here from Jarvis when I was a kid,” Tony says by way of announcing himself.

James only twitches, not bothering to look over his shoulder at Tony. He takes a sip of his beer. He is sat on the bench swing that hangs from the weathered gazebo. Tony wouldn’t trust the damp wood and rusting metal to hold his weight, but James seems to have no such qualms.

“Didn’t know we had beer in the house.”

“I asked Pepper and she had it delivered,” he says.

“Right.” Tony stuffs his hands in the pockets of his rain jacket. “So… what’s up, Sunshine?” he asks.

Barnes shrugs. “Dunno.” He finally raises his eyes from his boots and meets Tony’s eyes. “Thinking,” he says. “I like it out here.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “It’s peaceful.” He takes a long sip of his beer. “Don’t know why you don’t spend more time out here. Long Island, I mean.”

Tony shrugs and looks away. His eyes wander to the old Italian statue of an angel and a saint amid a weathered fountain that is now filled with green rainwater. His mother had it imported from Sicily when Tony was a toddler. She used to take him out here with her while she resided over her plants like a benevolent ruler. She was a billionaire’s wife but she still maintained her upbringing in the way she would kneel for hours in the dirt with worn gardening gloves and a rusting water pale. Reciting old stories her mother had told her in lulling Italian. Tony almost thinks he can hear her voice here now, just a whisper of that beautiful language that carries past his ear with a warmth of familiarity. She was everything safe and good in Tony's childhood. “Been wondering that lately myself,” he says.

James raises a brow. “What? You and Pepper settle down and move to the country?” He laughs and takes another swig.

Tony crosses his arms and shakes his head. “You know, I don’t care for your tone.”

“Well forgive me, Stark, but you don’t exactly come off as the settling down type,” he says “You’re a little too fast paced for the Hamptons. You spend six out of seven nights a week in your lab, you practically-”

“Alright, I get it. I get it. Slow down, asshole.” He sighs. “It’s not like I don’t want to,” he says. “Settle down, I mean -- with Pep. That’s the dream, right? Who doesn’t want that? Eventually. I’m not saying we’re going to get married and have two point five kids-”

James quirks a brow, mouthing _two point five?_

“With everything that’s happened the past few years -- what’s that thing they say? You’re a new person every seven years? We’re hitting seven here, I don’t think I have anything in common with who I was when I met Pepper other than still being in love with Pepper. I’ve spent a long time wanting to want that and now I think I actually want that…”

Barnes silently holds out his beer and Tony gratefully accepts it and takes a generous gulp before handing it back.

“Anyway,” Tony says, feeling a little deflated. “Dinner’s ready.”

James laughs. He pushes himself out of the bench swing and brushes off his jeans. “When did we become each other's therapists?” he asks with a humorous lilt.

Tony scoffs. “I hadn’t realized we’d become so predictable.”

“Shame it’s so overgrown,” James says after a pause, gesturing to the garden with his beer. “It’s really peaceful out here.”

“What once was nature's returns to her and all that, yada, yada,” Tony says with a flutter of his hand. He chews his bottom lip as James leads the way through the thicket of trees, pausing to glance over his shoulder at the withering clearing. It really is a shame. Tony isn't sure though that he will ever bring himself to have the place redone. Some things are best left in the past and Tony can't shake the ghosts that still linger here. Like wisps of memories that get carried in the wind.

“Stark, you commin’?” James calls through after him through the trees.

Tony shakes himself. “Yeah, right behind you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is so late. I've been really busy with school and work, but I'm hoping to actually finish this thing here soon. I'm actually really excited. I'm excited to write more with Bucky in it and I really enjoy writing him and Tony, I think their personalities really play off each other well. I kinda view Barnes as a modern cowboy, this very stoic and somber exterior to him, and with that it's become a lot easier to write him. 
> 
> I'm also really enjoying the reinvention of my own version of the old Stark manor. I like to think of Maria Stark as this Italian woman that even while being a billionaire was very rustic and hands-on, i.e. her garden. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked this. Let me know what you think, will ya?


End file.
